Total War: Genocide
by TheRabbidRabbit
Summary: "He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." – Friedrich Nietzsche. (AU)
1. Prolouge

AN: So… I guess it's about time someone wrote this kind of crossover. You can thank me later.

Disclaimer: I do not own Wolfenstein or Gate.

* * *

"_I realised long ago that the reason the Empire survived its war with Japan that long was because we're fighting men in monsters' clothing. For all their power, the JSDF were considerate, respecting the sanctity of life and the justness of their actions. But this time it's different. This time, we're fighting monsters in men's clothing… By the Gods, what have we unleashed?"_

– Senator Godasen

* * *

_It's happening again. _

It was the sobering thought that looped in the mind of Pullus Valerii, a Legatus in the Saderan Army. It pretty much summed up the entire scene playing before him. He was greatly troubled that they are repeating the same mistake that put the Empire in its precarious situation in the first place.

The Gods must have a rather sick and dark sense of humour to let this happen in taking joy in the suffering of their subjects - particularly, the Legatus this day. Though, he should have realized that long ago that the Gods view them as mere toys - a source of enjoyment. Ever since the Gate of Alnus Hill was opened months ago, the Saderan Empire has experienced nothing but ruin at the hands of the JSDF. Hailing from the world that the Saderans had foolishly invaded, the JSDF hopelessly - hilariously - outmatched them every time they met on the battlefield. Their engagements extracted a heavy toll on the Saderans as casualties rose to nightmarish proportions. Veterans were a rarity since for most, their first encounter with this enemy usually their last.

Pullus himself was a veteran - being a simple centurion in the past but the casualties were so massive that he was catapulted into the position of Legatus in the Legion that he served in. But even he was a rarity for veterans. It's safe to assume that he's the only one who had participated in every engagement against the JSDF and _survived_ if anyone can even fathom that.

His survivability wasn't attributed to some sort of martial or tactical prowess against an enemy that can slaughter thousands of their men from afar, it was sheer luck and continued prayer to the Gods. It was a thing he considered as both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because he could still care for his family and a curse by watching his comrades - both friends he knew and subordinates he led - be subjected to horrendous deaths and/or crippling injuries, and most of the time the latter led to the former since their wounds were too severe to be treated.

Now they're going to repeat the whole disaster all over again, potentially exacerbate their already bad situation. To add insult to injury, he found himself part of this gods-damned expedition yet again. Perhaps the only difference defining the previous experience from what is happening now would be him being the legatus. He was a mere centurion when the Alnus Gate was opened but with the horrendous casualties they suffered from the JSDF, he was catapulted to the position of the legatus legionis in the following months. Though that did little to actually help their situation.

Mere weeks after they were ousted from the Capital by the JSDF and their collaborators, word has reached Telta of another Gate in an island far east. Scouts sent a report of structures similar to the ones found on the other side of the Alnus Gate, reinforcing the belief that it led to the nation of the JSDF.

Emperor Zorzal El Caesar was quick to assemble an expedition, gambling about half of the forces he retained after his flight from Sadera. Godasen and his magicians aided in their efforts, he didn't know how they did it but they were able to create a temporary portal to shorten the voyage to their destination. No doubt the Hawks intend to use this Gate as an avenue to attack the JSDF's lands. They are bound to be caught off guard since they were under the assumption that they hold the only existing Gate. Of course, these were the thoughts of men who used politics and riches to gain their ranks. Their soldiers and those with even an ounce of competence, however, did not share in their enthusiasm for they were the ones who did the dying.

Legatus Pullus surveyed the expedition in front of his tent, noting how cool the night was under a full moon, but that didn't abate the vigorous activity all over the camp. Visible to his brown eyes were the long procession of soldiers marching into the Gate. Speaking of the divine structure itself, it manifested beside a steep cliff. Past the structure was the blue expanse of the ocean, the rays of moonlight illuminating the coming waves that were periodically slamming on the cliff.

The area around the Gate was the busiest part of the camp as troops funnelled in and out with plunder and slaves, and the structure wasn't alone like in Alnus Hill.

There were seven portals on this island the first time they found them. Only one was stable enough to traverse, which became the Gate. According to the magicians, the six were transient and bound to disappear this midnight due to its unstable composition, which was five minutes from now.

But the Legati of the expedition were opportunistic as they were glory-hounds, commanding the magicians to turn these portals into what they call Lesser Gates. They were structurally smaller than the main Gate itself, but it wasn't an issue since the size of the tunnel remained the same. That meant they can funnel the same amount of troops and supplies into the other side without being hampered by its petite size. Their location also helped, all six arranged beside the main Gate.

Pullus had a glaring suspicion that they didn't even lead to Japan, but rather other areas in their world. He had no way of proving this because the Hawks blindly assuming that it all led to Japan.

And indeed, looking at the slaves they brought back confirmed his fears. While the slaves from the main Gate shared the traits of the Japanese, none were in those taken from the Lesser Gates. None of them shared facial characteristics. Their complexion paler with more varied hair and eyes.

He was there with the other Legati and the Oprichnina when they were interrogating what amounted to be a warrior, after the magicians gained his language and shared it with them - German was the name of the language. The Oprichnina had him tortured for information, using pain to render him amenable to their demands. However, the warrior said nothing. Pullus had to commend this one for his resilience. Upon noticing the Japanese slaves they were bringing from the main Gate, barbarian hollered as if he lost his sanity from the suffering he endured. Instead of giving them information, he proceeded to mock them as much as he can with a very colourful language that smeared the pride of the proud.

Though the man was executed by beheading on the spot by the Oprichnina, his last words still haunted him.

_You brought a fate far worse than death to yourselves. _

All but Pullus had foolishly brushed what the barbarian said as a bluff. It would seem that they had learned nothing from the past and logic dictated that he accept those words as true. However, he hoped beyond hope that the tales about the JSDF's world were true but as the back of his mind, he could not shake this feel what the warrior said was some kind of omen.

"Sir Valerii!"

A voice called, he recognized it. He turned from the procession and saw two familiar faces approaching him. It was Aemilius, an old friend of his, and Cara, his wife who was holding onto a bundle of cloth in a way that obvious to Pullus that she was carrying an infant. It would appear that they were coming to tell him this.

"Aemilius. Cara." He greeted the approaching couple before embracing the young soldier, while the woman observed from behind with a smile of her own. "It's good to see you. What brings you here, my friend?"

"It's funny you should ask that, sir. Cara and I come bearing great news." Aemilius said with a bright smile that was shared by his partner. Given his youth, he had a fine countenance with a pair of green eyes and short brown hair. Other than that, he had the average build of a legionnaire.

Pullus has a close friendship with Aemilius from his early days as a soldier, having first met him and his brother during his first days as a centurion. Although he was an average legionnaire, he was a dependable one just like the rest. As such, he was one of the few people he knows that was still alive and could trust.

"You have a child?" He said, smirking at their bewildered looks. He chuckled at this. "Come now, Aemilius, I can see your wife carrying a bundle in her arms much like a mother would her babe the moment you came into view. You can't possibly think to surprise me with that." At that, the couple could not help but laugh for he was right.

"I told you he would notice." Cara playfully admonished her husband as she rocked her child. She was an attractive young woman he's happy for Aemilius to have as a wife. She was by no means a fighter, hence she wore simple brown clothing around her lithe body. Her skin was fairer than that of Aemilius, and her hair was black. Her eyes, as blue as the ocean, remain fixed to the bundle of cloth in her arms.

"I had to try, my love." He shrugged before he turned to his commander and smiled. "It's a girl." Aemilius informed with a tone of pride. "She was born just a few weeks ago." He said as Cara handed her child to Pullus.

"She's beautiful." He remarked as the child looked at him with curiosity with the greenest eyes he had seen in his life. He caressed the child's black hair. "What is her name?"

"We decided on Calliope." Cara answered. It took Pullus less than a moment to know that the name made sense given their history. It all began when he, Aemilius and Gaius went into a tavern after a day-long suppression of the local banditry with the rest of his century. They were drinking ale, when the owner announced a performance in thanks for their tasks and a young woman stepped into the stage, her skill with the harp and enchanting voice. While the visitors were impressed and applauded her performance, Aemilius was lovestruck–his heart pierced by the arrow of Amour, the Goddess of Love.

Though a brave lad, the same bravery didn't extend to love and Pullus needed to cajole him along with Gaius to approach her. But now, the rest was history due to their daughter.

Calliope. Beautiful voice.

"She looks just like her mother. But she has her father's eyes." That statement earned bemusement from the new parents before he returned the child to her mother. Although it was joyous and served as a welcome distraction, this news made him more anxious in the inside.

The sight of Cara and her newborn child in the middle of a conquest was unfortunate. They were a testament of just how callous the Hawk faction can be: camp followers. It was mandated for two reasons: to conserve their fighting strength for the upcoming battle and provide motivation for the troops. Even the then-Emperor Molt wasn't this militaristic. Such things were forbidden in the past for it endangers the lives of the legionaries relatives should they be defeated, defenceless and ultimately left at the mercy of their foes.

His family managed to avoid the fate of joining him, because he sent them to Italica to his sister's family immediately after the attempt on Emperor Molt. He had nothing to worry about the JSDF, since his sister's family was in Italica when they saved it from the bandits and informed him the tales of their chivalry. If he was just a lowly soldier now, he could have escaped and joined them in Italica...but it was not meant to be.

Aemilius wasn't as fortunate, his family was forced to join him the warzone. The young lad was of plebian birth like him, but it was worsened by the fact that he's an orphan – without a mother or father to protect him. Now here he was, a father. But will he be able to protect his new family should the worst come to pass for this expedition?

While it was great news to learn of their daughter, that doesn't answer one thing.

"Where's Gaius?" Pullus asked.

The inquiry of his younger brother's whereabouts brought a frown on Aemilius' face. "He's part of the Vanguard as one of the cavalry." He answered, referring to the main force sent into the main Gate.

Instantly, the facade faltered. His anxiety now visible in his face.

"Sir, is there a problem?" Aemilius inquired upon noticing his worry.

"I worry for him." Pullus sighed tiredly as he stared at the Gate. "We're redoing the same mistake that started all this mess, and he's out there, away from the Gods' reach. This isn't an ordinary foe we're up against, much less even win." He paused to gaze upon the reason for this expedition.

The Gate. Though a man with a strong faith in the Gods, that no longer extended to anything associated with them. Contempt simmered in his eyes as he continued to beheld the root of all their problems.

"I only pray that whatever kingdoms we've invaded, be merciful and courteous as the JSDF."

From behind, Aemilius placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I can only hope the same sir."

The sound of a horn reverberated throughout the camp, signalling that the inevitable has arrived. Pullus, Aemilius and Cara watched as the Lesser Gates begin crumbling into dust from the top-down.

When the dust settled, the Gate was all that stands alone.

–TWG–

Escape.

In the Saderan military, that word was the most stigmatised. Men of the Empire are taught to be stalwart, brave and honourable in the face of adversity, be it calamities or invasions. They are to stand their ground against all odds, to surmount the insurmountable when others have already faltered.

But for Gaius, it no longer mattered. Escape was his main priority now.

Escape was technically the same as _retreat_, but with different connotations. _Retreat_ meant there was still a plan in place to repeat whatever endeavour that backfired. _Escape_, on the other hand, meant a single-minded value on self-preservation at the expense of everything.

Regardless of what others would think, nothing was stopping him from getting back to the Gate in one piece and return to his brother Aemilius and Legatus Pullus. He'd worry about the consequences and Oprichnina later.

Truth to be told, he held those virtues to heart as a son of Sadera. Like the rest of the expedition, he expected this conquest to be different from the debacle that happened in Holy Alnus months ago. The JSDF was a powerful kingdom, but that didn't mean others are on par with their civilisation. To preserve their powerbase, they must've intervened with the other kingdoms of their world, to keep them from being strong as they are.

Which means that the other nations of their world were far weaker; easy pickings for the assembled legions.

But they were wrong… They were SO VERY wrong!

Instead, it was the previous expedition all over again. While there was a measure of success due to the greater number of slaves procured, it didn't mean they were any more victorious.

Now the enemy is unto them, pushing them back at an alarming rate. The expedition's offensives were virtually futile. Every advance halted, every charge broken, and every legionnaire slaughtered in droves without the chance of swinging their blade.

_I must get out of here. I must return to the Gate. _Gaius thought to himself in desperation.

Gaius was fortunate that the road was clear. Aside from the burning objects joined by a bare amount of corpses, the path was spacious and easily traversable. His horse could gallop as fast as it can without taking turns into consideration.

Only time will tell if that same fortune extends to getting out of here safe and sound but it appeared waiting was unnecessary, the familiar sound of thunder reverberated amidst the blazing sound of flames. Gaius cried out in pain as a burning sensation manifested near his shoulder. It was accompanied by an otherworldly force that threw him off his mount. Unfortunately, their speed meant him rolling for a few moments before landing flat on his stomach.

He was prone on the ground, writhing in pain all over his body. The hard landing procured aching bones and bruised flesh, but the wound caused by the thunder was worse.

He could still feel his hand, which meant that it was just a flesh wound.

The horse stopped its tracks, but was barely able to stand as its legs wobbled from fatigue. Gaius felt sympathy for the animal as it wheezed from the ordeal of galloping for a long time that it was trained to, but it was necessary. The sight of his horse galvanised him to act. Gaius steadied his breathing in an effort to calm himself. Lying down writhing in pain would do him no good. He pulled himself to his feet and grasped the wound in order to curtail the bleeding. He didn't know the severity but it would be wise to seek out medical aid rather than potentially bleed to death.

He took a moment to look down and saw the small red puddle that formed from his wound. He shambled towards his idle mount, ignoring the pain each step brought on his legs.

However, he immediately realised how vain his efforts were. Something leapt from one of the dilapidated buildings on the side and pounced on the unsuspecting animal.

Stumbling to the ground in shock, the young legionnaire recognised it as one of the iron beasts the enemy fielded. These were one of the most ruinous since they kill within reach as opposed from a distance and they can't cut through its metallic skin. Unlike other iron beasts of the JSDF he'd seen, this one has the closest semblance to an animal should it's steel body be replaced by flesh.

Four powerful legs, a blade-edged tail and a head with sharp teeth.

Of everything they faced in this world, this… thing sowed the most terror in their ranks; entire formations collapsed when these monsters charged head-on, he'd seen countless men slaughtered by a combination of their claws, tails and – dreadfully – mouth. Those gruesome encounters showcased intelligence, prioritising their officers effectively catalysed demoralisation.

Now he was here, alone in the face of this beast.

Completely petrified, Gaius can only watch as it slammed its paw on his horse's side to keep it in place as it's sharp claws pierced through. The horse panicked, screaming in terror and thrashing wildly in a futile attempt to displace the creature, but its instinctual mind was unable to comprehend that it weighed much more compared to it.

The beast's mouth, lined with sharp teeth that they could be mistaken for blades, clamped on the horse's neck and began tearing it apart. The horse tripled its efforts for a moment before quickly failing, it's panicked screams transitioned into bloody gurgles as it choked on its own blood.

He continued watching the brutal spectacle until multiple footsteps behind him forced him to look. A dozen or so men clad in black armour approached him in a disciplined pace. Held in their hands were black staffs that summoned thunder that killed from afar. It was cowardly contraption yet the results spoke for itself.

Gaius was surrounded. On one side were the barbarians ready to kill him at the slightest movement, and on the other was the iron beast, which was finished mauling his mount to death. The barbarians stopped synchronously at a certain distance, but their staffs remained pointed at him.

From his spot, the young legionnaire was now shaking uncontrollably. He can no longer calm himself as fear seized hold of his body.

A tense silence lingered for a few seconds before he heard a bark behind them. It was loud and concise, spoken with an air of authority.

_It must be their officer._

Like a pair of black curtains, the barbarians parted sideways and he was greeted by a menacing presence.

The man was clearly a superior officer, if the silence and commanding stature were any indication. He bore a geriatric countenance along with a graying golden hair tucked neatly under a bizarre headwear. His eyes were a pair of exotic golden orbs, it emitted utter malice in place of majesty.

He wore no armour unlike his men, opting for a long-coat of impeccable blackness. Nobility perhaps? Blue-bloods have this privilege of commanding legions even without experience – much less training – on the singular basis of their birthright, and relying on soldiers for their security.

Another figure was following behind the man, the close proximity he maintained gave the impression of a personal protector. Gaius mistook it to be some kind of golem at first, the armour was too encompassing for a man to move. But sure enough, the 'head' broke and retracted to his neck, revealing the half-covered face of a barbarian. Blonde as well, but with blue eyes.

The menacing aura they held was palpable as they stopped before him. His heart and breathing stopped upon beholding the symbol emblazoned in the officer's bizarre headwear.

He had seen crosses in his life, but never something like this. It was angled diagonally, with extending shapes on the side of each limb giving it a spinning impression.

There was a reason for his dread. The slaves they brought from this Gate knew of this symbol, even its name. Not because it belonged to them but because it's the emblem of their oppressors. It's very presence evoked fear and terror in their hearts, feelings that he now felt.

A swastika.

It was the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him.

"Unten bleiben." The officer ordered in his tongue, bringing the underside of his boot on his face.

* * *

"_Whether you're a courageous soldier or a valiant commander, there's a reason you should fear Armend Ziegler."_

– Kreisau Circle Operative, William Joseph Blazkowicz.

* * *

AN: I hope I made a good impression for an introductory chapter. Stay tuned for the next chapter.

This is the first time I'm contributing to the Gate fandom. Having discovered the franchise after coming across Kamzil118's ill-fated _Thus the Hammer Fell a _few years ago, I went on a reading-spree on the wiki then the fan works. I never bothered watching the anime, but I read the manga (which is personally better than the animated adaptation) instead.

While I acknowledge the potential of the franchise, I'm not very impressed with it. The premise itself is a prop for a right-winger to showcase the superiority of his country and its military by pitting it against a technologically _inferior_ foe and venture to another world, where he can demonstrate its _heroism _and _righteousness _while demonising everyone else. As a result, the overall setting is left underdeveloped since military and political confrontations take the centre-stage.

For the purpose of this story, I'm taking some creative liberties to expand the universe Yanai left bare.

The Wolfenstein franchise intrigued me the first time I came across the trailer for New Order. The idea of the Nazis winning WW2 is one of the most popular tropes in alternate historical fiction, as the world would be very different from the one we live in. While I haven't played NO itself, I was able to do with New Colossus and I really enjoyed the game. Unfortunately, I don't hold Youngblood on the same esteem as the previous two incarnations. Although Bethesda did a good job on advancing the storyline, they fucked up the gameplay of YB so it was a good thing I looked at the reviews before I bought it.

So I figured, why not create a crossover and see how things go?

On a final note, the penultimate paragraph below is very important to read.

I'm advising you readers to not get your expectations too high. While the crossover involves Wolfenstein, that that portion of the crossover is an **AU**; the setting is _VERY_ different from the canon material and I've taken a lot of creative liberties to fill certain holes here and there on that and the GATE.

I'm certain this left questions in your mind. Whatever those are, the next chapter will answer it all.


	2. The Beginning of the End

AN: So far, I'm pleased with the attention this story has garnered since publication. It demonstrates how much potential this idea has to become very popular. Take note that this story is also published in Spacebattles, where I'm more active compared to so feel free to drop by and join the club.

I guess I kept you folks waiting for this second chapter. Truth to be told, this has been in storage for some time now. It was always my intent to have chapters in-between the one already published and the one in-development; in order to make last minute adjustments since I won't publish them immediately upon completion.

However, a real-life development concerning one of my Betas pushed me to publish the chapters I currently have (this chapter first then the next one after some days). That way he can help me explain while he's still here. I was trusting that readers would understand what I meant by **AU** in the previous chapter, but unfortunately... no. Sometimes when you pick a story and think you understood the premise, you soon find out that's wasn't the case and that the _book cover lied _if you ever heard of that saying_._

But I guess I'm equally guilty since this has been deliberate on my part. I made no mention of the Nazis in the previous chapter, but as expected you assumed it to be such given the premise of Wolfenstein and that Swastika symbol I placed at near the end.

So let me make one thing clear:

Those soldiers at the end? Those _**aren't**_ Nazis.

Confused? This chapter provides you with answers. It's for that reason that I refrained from responding back to the reviews (at least in FF.)

Before we begin, I would like to credit my beta-readers quickdraw101 and TheDrkKnight12 for their assistance with this chapter. As fellow authors (highly recommend reading their Gate fanfics) they have been dependable during this chapter's development, and kudos to TheDrkKnight12 for adding stuff here. Unfortunately, their services won't be available for some time; quickdraw101 is going to be inactive for a couple of months until later this year and TheDrkKnigh12, for some reason, has been unresponsive as of lately. Although I'm not giving up on TheDrkKnight12, a reassurance of his condition will be helpful.

* * *

"_No person in their right mind will dare attack Ziegler unless it's necessary or you have nothing to lose. Even the Nazis are cautious of that guy."_

– Grace Walker, Kreisau Circle leader

* * *

_Many hoped that the third millenium will usher in a new age for mankind, one devoid of the flaws of the preceding thousand years and a move to a future of peace and prosperity; the closest thing we would have to a paradise on Earth where there is perfection and contentment in the absence of suffering and struggle. _

_Sadly, that wasn't the case. _

_Peace and Unity remained a pipe dream even after the global ruination brought by the Third World War, as mankind was divided once again by its loyalties and interests. Instead, two phoenixes arose from the ashes; reborn more powerful than any nation of the old and have a different vision for the future._

_On one side is the World Consortium, a clique of powerful countries bound by their economic interests. An alliance of independent political entities in name only, their economies were interwoven into a monolith and held together by titanic corporate entities known as Syndicates. They are avarice given form, nothing cannot be bought or sold in their society; not even one's body and soul._

_On the other stands the Oceania Accords, born from petty revenge, grand ambition, and an idealised future. Forged from the fires of conquest by a former Syndicate executive, it is a theocratic regime named in her honour; apotheosized as a divine incarnate that came to mankind in its darkest hour. Millions are born, live, and die in the name of the Imperatrix, perpetually on a crusade to spread her faith on all corners of the sinful world. _

_The World Consortium abhor the shallow faith of the Oceanians, while the Oceanians revile the material excess practiced by the people of the Consortium. Opposing on philosophical grounds, this friction saw the world engulfed in a twenty-year war as both superstates vie for global dominance. The Other stood as their main obstacle to achieving this ambition, absolute victory over them will mark their victory._

_But in the end, it's the immense power of the superstates that made them indestructible even to each other. War doesn't wear down their political and economic structure unlike the nations of the old. _

_An irritant indeed, but one that didn't deter their single-minded optimism._

_For twenty years, the war was a continuous stalemate; turning points were brief before the war balanced back; territories fluctuated as battles for them were regularly won and lost._

_The cost of such optimism was astronomical, millions died and entire cities were destroyed. So consumed were both sides in their animosity that they barely did anything to revitalise the ruined state of the global environment; only doing to acquire living space for the expanding population born from the demands of war._

_To the superstates, the cost is irrelevant to the Great Game; the lost were replenished by millions more willing to fight and the destroyed rebuilt using practically limitless resources._

_At least, the intensity diminished with the signature of the Armistice; the first, and hopefully the only of its kind. _

_It was the closest thing to peace people experienced in this new millennium, yet a tenuous one at best. The threshold to the Perpetual War's resumption can be crossed anytime; battles once waged in the open now receded in the shadows, where clandestine operatives waged their own war in the name of their state. Military conflicts remained still, yet pale in comparison to pre-Armistice battles in intensity, size and scope; never escalating but are the norm. _

_A myriad of old wounds from the Other remain sore, and each one a driving force for the resumption of the war. But there is one that both populations share, the sorest scar of the War._

_The man named Armend Ziegler._

– Excerpt from Chapter 2: The Armistice and the Cold War; A House Divided: A History of the World Consortium and the Oceania Accords.

* * *

_Tokyo – Japan_

_12:15 PM_

In contrast to his peers, Armend Ziegler was an atypical commander.

Often, flag officers refrain from entering the battlefield due to the risks involved. Instead commanding within secure locations that were impenetrable and unknowable to the enemy. An intact chain of command was crucial for any military campaign, and for the enemy to strike it is far more devastating than losing an entire military unit or being cut from the supply chain.

It was a personal preference for him, so to speak. The battlefield was an environment he was intimately acquainted in his long time of service to the state, and was more welcoming than the confines of a room. What most don't realise is that leading in the front is a double-edged sword; risks coming with benefits. For one, soldiers would be galvanised at the sight of their commander on the frontlines.

But morale was just a side benefit. He has his own reasons for stepping into the warzone.

He was dressed in impeccable blackness; the most prominent being the long coat that covered his body. Its ends reached past his knees, flapping mildly from the breeze. Second to that was a memento and a trophy he claimed from a foe; a swastika-emblazoned peaked cap that tucked his neat blonde hair. It ended just below his ears, yet one can see the few graying streaks brought upon by age and stress.

For five years, he was the Warden-General of the Japan Penal Colony, the military and administrative apex of the region. But that just won't do, he never forgot that he was a prisoner just like its people. It was far from his birthplace of Switzerland within the Heartland, but he wasn't the type to be homesick.

As of this moment, he was leading a military operation inside the ruined capital of Japan. Once the seat of power of the mighty Japanese Empire, Tokyo was subjected to ghettoisation like the other cities; each functioning as the penal colony's equivalent of a prison cell block. This measure is best expressed by the perimeter of massive walls constructed around each city. Again like all cities, Tokyo is but a collection of dilapidated buildings that survived the invasion back during the final stages of the Great War.

Now it was the site of another battle, but against a new enemy.

The drones were doing their routine area sweep an hour ago when they detected a commotion in the middle of the city. Somehow, a neoclassical structure manifested at the heart of the ghetto and out came these… Romans, he still has a hard time believing it, along with other creatures of fantastical origin: dragons, orcs, pig and wolfmen.

It was fortunate that the city was walled-in, containing the invaders and preventing them from spreading outward. Otherwise, It would be troublesome and time-consuming to hunt them all down as he'll have many places to search after this storm has settled.

No, not a storm. A squall.

He issued explicit orders to kill anything that tries to escape, including the prison populace. Several of the dragon cavalries tried to either fly overhead or engage, but the stationed soldiers and weapon emplacements rebuffed their efforts. Meanwhile, his forces gather outside the walls in preparation.

The enemy was stretched thin, he ordered the attack. The entrances of the walls opened as his forces poured in to repel this invasion. By each passing second, they advanced deeper and deeper into the city from all directions, all approaching their objective.

The mysterious structure designated: Ground Zero.

The Romans were surrounded and were being butchered on all sides. Valiant as they were savage, any opposition they put up was swept aside with the pull of many triggers. They were fools–brave fools thinking that they're fighting a conventional foe while the contrary was evident. Those that survived and tried to escape were awarded the misfortune of being taken alive for interrogation.

Speaking of which, their latest catch was being dragged away, a young man no older than twenty it seemed, wearing the apparel of a Roman legionary, unconscious after stomping his petrified face. He will be tossed with the other POWs they captured for interrogation. The young man will be given medical treatment first just like all Romans that had the misfortune of being taken alive. He was bleeding from the gunshot – and now, from the broken nose as well – but it wasn't fatal; he made sure of it when he took the shot.

The equestrian would've escaped had there not been a drone overhead to notify him. They were on a parallel road when he received the information, and so, he sent the panzerhund ahead to ambush him in case he failed while he gathered his protector and a detachment of soldiers. The young man was so focused on escaping that he didn't even bother to divert his gaze from the front even momentarily. A big mistake that Armend capitalised on after he passed the intersection where they were waiting, he stepped into the street and drew his pistol.

Even after becoming a pencil-pusher, that didn't mean his martial training has degraded in the attrition of the office. His marksmanship and reflexes remained top-notch despite his fifty-five years of age. Same goes for the sharpness of his golden eyes.

Now that the prisoner was secured, he gestured to everyone to regroup.

"I never imagined Tolkien's work would exist in real life, much less Romans." His protector dryly remarked as they walked side-by-side.

At that, the Warden-General snickered and glanced at his protector and trusted confidant. Even outside the armour, Isak Dahl was an imposing figure; tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. They were roughly of the same height, but the armour added a few centimetres. His outward appearance, down to his stance, emitted an air of… militancy; befitting his role as a protector.

He first met Isak during the first day of his Warden-Generalship, assigned to be his protector. He treated him professionally and with suspicion at first; a man he had never met before was suddenly assigned to protect him It took time but he eventually warmed up to the young man; their relationship evolved from officer and subordinate to close friends that can depend on one another.

All in all, the Scandinavian stood as a warrior that evoked dread – but not on the level of the infamous Terror-Billy of the Kreisau Circle.

"I concur. I'm sure everyone wasn't expecting to see fantastic personages mingling with roman anachronisms." He replied, caressing the head of the passing panzerhund. Blood smeared its face while bits of horse flesh hung between its razor teeth.

"Ever the eloquent sir?" Isak quipped.

"Call it the byproduct of oratory. Public speaking demands extensive vernacular." He replied, easily whisking the horse blood from his glove thanks to its hydrophobic layering. "As strange as today is, let's not forget we're not the only ones affected."

This wasn't an isolated incident. His contacts within the intelligence community reported that the Heartland has been besieged by identical portals, which explained the declaration of an alert OMEGA: BLACK. They turned to dust about an hour after manifesting, not long after he decided to attack.

Now only Ground Zero remained, and he planned on deploying a force to secure the other side.

He had nothing to fear. The other phenomena have ceased to be, yet this one still stood. It was stable while the others weren't, so it was possible to send in forces without fear of losing them forever. Of course, Zeigler knew that it would not be that easy or that simple and he was sure the men would be uneasy at the prospect of being stranded in an unknown location forever. Natural, as the unknown was always treated with suspicion and fear. So he settled with sending in a purely robotic force to do the job.

Regardless, today's bound to become a Day of Infamy for the Oceania Accord.

A few minutes ago, he received a report that the portals had disappeared. If so, why did the one in Tokyo remain? He understood that this wasn't some kind of freak coincidence but he would ponder on it later. For now, they had other matters to attend to.

"How goes our counteroffensive?"

"We've secured the outskirts and are pushing through our objective. All existing hostiles are pulling back and are experiencing high casualties. The drones, at least those not destroyed by the dragon cavalry, show an increased influx of Romans from the structure - estimates around thousands. No casualties on our side so far."

Armend nodded with a smile. It was a predictable outcome, the lopsidedness was plain obvious to their favour. Antiquated arsenal and warfighting were woefully outclassed by the power of modern warfare, allowing them to extract a bloody toll on the Romans. The increased numbers weren't concerning at all–more meat for the meat grinder. The only danger was the dragon cavalry since some air and ground elements had close-calls with those lizards. But aside from their firebreath, they were melee-oriented fighters; distance and firepower were the keys to downing them. So far there were no deaths, but it's in an officer's duty to keep casualties to a minimum as possible… on his side, that is.

They finally returned to the boulevard where the main contingent remained. They were on-guard as the sounds of battle continued playing in the background. A skirmish had broken here earlier when several Romans attempted an ambush, only to be slaughtered by superior firepower. The many corpses were a testament of that, now his men are busy piling them together to be burnt. Rifle-toting troopers kept watch while flamethrower-bearing purifiers were incinerating piles of corpses, the quality of the air stained by fresh blood and burning flesh.

The Elite Guard was the most versatile tool a high-ranking Oceanian official can use; a shield to protect, a sword to attack and a beacon to inspire. They were personal military units, a privilege of an official's long dedicated service to the Accord. His own wasn't an exception. They were supposed to be disbanded following his fall from grace, but no–loyalty cannot be easily broken by words.

The contingent brought with them a heavily-armoured prisoner transport. Two troopers carried their newest prisoner towards it. Another stood guard near the hatch, pressing a few buttons for it to open. While it parted sideways into two, a figure bolted out and tackled the unprepared soldier.

It seemed like one of the captured Romans awoke or grew a modicum of courage to try to fight his way to liberation. This one was dressed differently; unarmoured with nothing but a brown tunic and black pants.

The commotion startled everyone as the Roman stabbed an unarmored part of his arm. The soldier retaliated by hooking the Roman off of him. He stood and was prepared to run, but a nearby soldier punched him in the gut, bringing him to his knees before slamming the butt of his rifle on his face. He was quickly surrounded as he continued to reel from the assault.

Armend and Isak joined them, contributing to the Roman's agony by obliterating his kneecaps with his pistol and enjoying the screams that followed. Agony was always a satisfying spectacle to witness and it goes to show just how anyone can bleed.

"Fucking son of a bitch." The injured soldier pushed through – clutching his bleeding arm – and kicked his ribs with an audible crack. The savage screamed then heaved as his lungs recover from such attack.

"It was a mistake to let your guard down, soldier. Your recklessness could've cost you your life." Armend reprimanded the soldier before addressing the whole group. "We have enough prisoners to interrogate, the transport has served its purpose. Have it escorted to Gatehouse D-14 with a squad." He turned back to the injured soldier. "Join them and get yourself treated."

The injured man wordlessly nodded and left with another squad, but not before landing another kick on the hapless living fossil that was a roman. The squad boarded their IFV along with the soldier and drove away with the larger prison transport.

Now he turned his attention to their audacious captive and how to kill him. Upon noticing a nearby pile of corpses being burned by a purifier, an idea hatched in his head.

"Add him to the pyre." He ordered Isak, who wordlessly knelt down to grab the man's collar and drag him to the burning pile. The Roman was in desperate defiance; thrashing against their hold and screaming in his language. He picked up a few words and recognised it as some bastardised version of the latin, having studied that outdated tongue in his free time. The Roman proclaimed that he belongs to some influential family and they'll pay for this disrespect and 'the Great Empire shall avenge me!'.

_Interesting._

_Whoever_ this Great Empire is, they were foolish to come to this world and anger on of the most powerful nations in history; more so for coming in the doorstep of the feared Armend Ziegler. Well, no matter, he now knew what to..._ask_ the captives about and what to stamp on his latest additions to his list of victims - Here Lies an Empire. It has a nice ring to it, actually.

Isak finally reached the pyre and threw the Roman atop the makeshift pyre. The defiant Roman screamed anew and louder as his flesh was burnt. Worse, the nearby purifier doused him with his incinerator.

Armend relished it as long as it lasted.

"Let us advance." He turned back to the contingent. "No more prisoners. Kill everything in your way. Man, woman, child, old, young, Jap, Roman. NO EXEMPTIONS!"

–TWG–

_War Tent – Imperial War Camp – Falmart_

_12:15 AM_

There were four things that told Pullus that something had gone _**horribly**_ wrong on the other side.

First. There's been an increase in the influx of troops entering the Gate, even the reserves and those meant to guard the camp were now joining the next batch of legionaries towards the terra incognita. legionaries eschewed the disciplined awe-inspiring march and are now running fast into the Gate, but still orderly to not trample one another. The last thing they need is turning this into a chaotic mess. It was demanding, each legion was obligated to send either two cohorts or their First Cohort. The sheer volume of legionaries meant that it will take time before all can be deployed.

Two. All magicians and several other high-ranking officials have been evacuated along with the slaves and plunder the expedition procured – escorted by approximately a tenth on the expedition including half of the Oprichnina – all while leaving them here to continue the fight while they leave with all the loot. He was incredibly incensed the first time he saw this, but there was nothing he could do when they were already far away.

Three. Tensions were high around the camp between some legionaries and the officers. Friction arose between the regular legionaries – those that came from the Gate, bloodied and wild-eyed in terror – and the legati and Oprichnina. They were vehemently refusing to go back and already, there were incidents of desertions; both attempted and successful. Those that failed were punished by flaying; their bodies displayed as a warning to others. Those that succeeded were ignored as they'll need every man they can spare.

As bad as the three were, it was nothing compared to the fourth: the Oprichnina was now forcing the camp followers into the other side. The cleaners were mopping the camp of them to be brought to the Gate by both force and persuasion.

And that explains his presence in the War Tent, along with the audacity he boasted.

"What you're doing will have a detrimental effect on our morale. You're bringing our citizens into the field – the families of the soldiery! Women, children and the aged! Has it occurred to you that these people can barely fight, much less have discipline to maintain formation!?"

"The Camp Followers will bolster our existing forces, the Oprichnina are already arming the citizenry with weapons and armour we can spare. This plan will make our efforts more efficient in subjugating these barbarians." The Legatus Augusti explained. "Every son and daughter or Sadera is a warrior by birth in our proud history. What they lack is training, but they're warriors nonetheless."

"You're going to use them as shields." Pullus seethed in anger, his hand threatening to tear apart the wooden table in sheer rage over the complete disregard the legatus have for their people.

"Yes." The Legatus said bluntly, unmoved by his reasonings. "If they cannot fight, they might as well be shields."

"The men will never agree to this!" Pullus continued.

"Then we shall make them. If anyone tries something, we kill their families in front of them." This time, the Oprichniki interjected. "The soldiery can always vent their loss on the barbarians. For each lost kin is another reason for a legionary to fight harder and subjugate these savages. Surely you cannot deny the empowering nature of wrath?"

"An easy sentiment for those without any kin here."

There was a long stretch of silence that followed as everyone reeled from his statement. Then, their expressions turned to anger.

"Who are you to say that?" One of the legati growled, having the gall to be offended. "Do not dare compare common blood with the nobility. Commoners are easily expendable and easily replaceable. We, the nobility, aren't and are numbered. We are above them and not beholden to bring members of our houses here! We are a necessary component in winning campaigns like this as we have for the entire history."

"Then tell me why was the barbarian earlier laughing?!" He asked strenuously. "And his words before you executed him."

The atmosphere inside the tent changed. What was once fury changed into stupefaction. "Y-You actually worry about those, Legatus Pullus?" To Pullus' shock, all occupants hollered at him. "Oh Pullus, always the plebian–easily fooled by the bluff of the barbarian. The savage had clearly lost his mind after we tortured him. This shows how feeble his people are not only in body. This just makes our plunder easy to mould into labourers and whores."

"Why are you so concerned anyway? Are you not a veteran? A survivor of every battle against the JSDF, and was promoted as a Legatus of your legion for displays of 'courage'." The Oprichniki sneered. "Or it was a facade all along, sacrificing your men for your own personal gain?!"

Those words stunned Pullus. Suddenly, memories flashed in his mind; the blood, the flesh, the explosions, the screams… the loss. Suddenly, something snapped. Before he even knew it, he was climbing atop the table with a feral expression at the Oprichniki. "YOU FUCKING-"

"Mind your tongue, plebeian!" The Legatus screamed back as his soldiers restrained the enraged Pullus Valerii. The fool had the nerve to be offended. "Just because you're a legatus like us, that doesn't change your plebeian birth. You have no right to make demands much less reason with me. All of us but you are from houses of great renown, so know your place or I'll have my men show you."

"Get this plebeian out of our presence." The legatus augusti ordered his guards. "And bar him from ever entering until this campaign ends. He shall not derail our plans any further."

It seemed the disrespect extended to even the Praetorians. They disregarded his rank as a legatus and shoved him unceremoniously out of the tent before returning inside. The guards outside sidestepped to barricade the entrance should he attempt to barge in again.

Pullus returned those stern arrogant gazes with a sneer. _Foot lickers. _He was tempted to say it directly, but withhold his tongue. The last thing he wanted was for this to escalate. He was aware of his unpopularity with the legati, and a second offence might mean his legion paying the price for his continued defiance.

He walked away. He had no destination in mind, but he wants to be anywhere but near that War Tent. He can't stand the presence of it. The place itself was a representation of the noxious cesspit that is the high society of the Renegade Empire. Yes. _Renegade_. The Hawks represented the worst attributes of Sadera; arrogance, glory-hunger, disregard for the common folk–one that endured for hundreds of years of their hegemony in Falmart.

It was a good thing his family wasn't here. He thanked the Gods again for keeping them safe, in the hands of Empress Pina and the JSDF. However, that didn't make him comfortable. Many of his men have families with them, unlucky to find themselves with their husbands, fathers, brothers and sons under the tyrannical shadow of Zorzal El Caesar.

Aemilius.

His discomfort strengthened. Aemilius was sent ahead of the Gate just like many legionaries, unaware that his family would be joining the fray. The young lad had entrusted their safety to him before his departure, yet how can he honour his promise when the Oprichnina have already beaten him and he can't do anything about it?

His musings were interrupted by a commotion to the left. A legionary and his parents stood against two Oprichnina. The exchange between them was heated, but the family was unable to approach them given how threatening they held their spears. But why?

The answer: two more Oprichnina emerged from a nearby tent, dragging along two screaming girls and a woman.

_So that's why. _They must've seen what the cleaners were doing to the other camp followers, and planned to send the woman and her children away, only to run out of time as the Oprichnina reached them first. There wasn't any sign of struggle between the legionary and his parents and the Oprichnina – from the lack of injuries and the fact that the cleaners' absolute authority meant resistance is lethally dealt with.

Pullus felt pity for the family, especially for those girls since they remind him of his own daughters.

Soon enough a small circle of legionaries formed around the scene, no doubt feeling the same as him regarding the Oprichnina's conduct. They were all watching the scene with the visible displeasure, sympathising with their fellow legionary.

The woman hugged her crying daughters and began pleading, hoping to appeal to some sort of conscience they have. Had he not been angry, he would have snorted. A conscientious Oprichnina? Might as well hope for a day when the Hawks bow to the JSDF.

Neither Oprichnina were having none of it. Instead, they screamed at the woman's audacity for questioning their authority before backhanding her. This sight enraged not only the husband and his parents, but also the gathered legionaries now numbering a dozen or two. They screamed at the Oprichnina and were already advancing menacingly. It was unexpected for them, but they still tried their damndest to remind them of their authority – of their role as extensions of the Emperor.

As much Pullus would savour this moment, he knew the repercussions of assaulting an Oprichnina. _This is bad. _Under Imperial Law, assault or murder of an Oprichnina amounts to the following punishments: Execution of the offender, decimation of the perpetrators' legion, seizure of his assets and the enslavement of his relatives.

Such draconian measures perpetuated their power, and explained the unwillingness of legionaries to disobey them.

"Everyone stop!" He ordered just as swords were finally drawn. Everyone knew who he was, even he was known by legionaries of other legions. "Disperse, you know the consequences of attacking the Oprichnina. I will handle this."

For a few seconds, everyone was tense. Even he was unsure whether his command would be followed, but it was better to try than do nothing and cause more bloodshed. The legionaries were clearly conflicted, they knew the punishments but they've put up with the Oprichnina's oppression for too long; the camp followers were the final nail in the coffin for many.

But they were more rational, so they conceded and dispersed.

"It's good to see that you're considerate." One of the Oprichnina said, wearing the arrogant smirk that Pullus had grown to dislike.

"Leave." He said, quite boldly in the face of Zorzal's enforcers. "I'll take it from here."

The same man scoffed. "And why should I do that?"

"Because we need everyone for this campaign." He looked at the legionary. "That man looks willing enough to assault one of you, especially with what you're doing with his family. Taking the Imperial Law into account, you will deprive us of useful manpower and worsen the unrest in the camp caused by the decision of the other legati. Such a counterproductive act, aren't you people delegated by His Majesty to _boost_ morale and cohesion?"

The Oprichnina seemed mildly irritated at being lectured on their roles. But in the end, they saw reason with everything else he said. "Fine, we have more people to handle."

They left, and he approached the legionary while his parents approached the woman and children. "Thank you my lord." The young man said. He was a bit older than Aemilius, but looked taller.

"What caused this?"

"I saw that the cleaners were rounding up the families and bringing them to the Gate. I realised what they were planning and i tried to warn my family and help them escape somehow. My parents and I tried to distract them to no avail, mere seconds before you appeared."

"How do you intend to escape?" Pullus asked. "We are on an island in the far east; surrounded by a large expanse of the ocean. "

Seeing as the man has no words, he continued. "You do know what will happen if they're caught? You'll be charged with desertion and executed as a 'traitor'; your family enslaved."

"What else could we do, good sir?" The man's father said while tending his granddaughters, wiping the fresh tear trails off their soft cheeks. "It's a risk we must take. If we are sent to the other side, there's no coming back and we could be killed… or worse."

"Our grandchildren will suffer no such fate." Added the grandmother of the girls. "Better us than them. They're too young to suffer the horrors of war."

As Pullus pondered at the family's plight, an idea hatched in his mind – one that would allow him to kill two birds with one stone. "What's your name and legion, legionary?"

"My name is Tellar, My lord. I am of Legio Xaric."

"Tellar." He put a hand on the young soldier's shoulder. "Others suffer your plight and without a doubt had tried what you're doing. My legionaries have their families as well and those in the front-lines lack knowledge of this development. Even though there's nothing I can do for my own legion, I am willing to help your family."

Their faces brightened. "Y-You will, my lord?" Tellar stammered in shock.

"We must try."

"But what of the others?" Tellar's wife interjected. "They won't be so fortunate."

Tellar knelt down to face her, his face solemn and determined. "We have no choice, Ajahna. It will alert the cleaners, and you know what they will do to you and our daughters."

"Your husband's right." Pullus checked the surroundings. The area was fortunately devoid of Oprichnina, which makes things easier. "Follow me."

For the next few minutes, they moved in a quiet fashion to not garner the attention of any Cleaner in the vicinity. Pullus knew that they had to be quick if his plan was to work.

Of all forces in their military that suffered in the war against the JSDF, none bled the most as the Wyvern Corps. For hundreds of years, the dragon cavalry had maintained their aerial dominance in the battlefield. Even before the Imperial Schism between the Saderan Royalty, the Wyvern Corps were already a fraction of themselves. The Renegade Empire procured most of them, but even that wasn't enough. It had gotten to the point of supplanting the Corps with mercenaries.

In general, Pullus has a personal dislike for mercenaries. They fight and spill blood not for the protection of people, but for gold. Their loyalty was on a flux, always determined by the highest bidder and essentially making them a privatised military force. But there are those who had taken this scrounderally profession in the name of desperation–former legionaries stripped of wealth or discriminated folk like the Warrior-Bunnies.

As much as he hated dealing with mercenaries, he has no other alternative.

Pullus knew that an entire mercenary band of Wyvern riders was hired in this expedition. They were called Windrunners, famed for their speed and skill in the air, as such cost a fortune to hire. No doubt Zorzal employed their services should they need to deal with the iron pegasi of the otherworlders, but he'd seen firsthand the results of such an engagement.

It was fortuitous that the War Camp's Wyvern pen was located in the outskirts, that meant Tellar's family could escape faster. There were ten riders present, the entire mercenary band and they were tending their mounts, and they noticed their approach.

"Look who came to visit us men, the popular Legatus Pullus." What appeared to be the leader strode forward to them, mocking him with that accursed nickname. "What business do you have here?"

Pullus kept his mouth closed and instead threw a pouch at the mercenary. Everyone heard the clanking sound and when he poured the contents to his hand, they became speechless.

Thirty sinku.

"Is that enough for all of you?"

In an instant the dismissive faces of the Auxilia changed into interest. "You have our attention."

"I need you to deliver this man and his family to Sadera."

The man frowned. "That journey will take nearly several weeks! And this money covers most of the resulting expenses." He said, pointing to the sinkus he received from the legatus. "You need to do better, we aren't a charity like the JSDF."

Pullus had anticipated this and he came prepared. The legatus withdrew another pouch and poured the contents into his hand.

The mercenaries' eyes beamed once again; this time, a total of ten suwani lay on Pullus' hand. But instead of giving it to them, he slammed them on the armoured chest of the Tellar, knocking him out of his stupefied state. "Bring them safely and he'll pay you."

"Fine." The leader pocketed the money before turning to his men. "Prepare the Wyverns, looks like we won't be seeing any battle after all. Ready the spare saddles for our passengers and keep your flight stable. We're riding to Sadera."

The mercenaries went to prepare their mounts while the family approached him. "H-How?" Ajahna tried to ask but was beaten by the legatus.

"As dishonourable as it is, the dead no longer need material wealth." Pullus explained neutrally, having no shame nor pride in robbing the dead. It was distasteful but ultimately pragmatic given their war with Japan, a currency's value is worthless if not used. "I suggest you prepare for your departure. I must talk to Tellar."

The family nodded and they moved forward to assist the Windrunners in their preparation, leaving Tellar alone with Pullus.

"I… I couldn't thank you enough, my lord. We're going to be safe there." Tellar chuckled momentarily at how lucky they were, but his mind returned to pressing matters. "But… why the Capital?"

"Because I fear we have roused another titan." Pullus placed a hand on his shoulder, and Tellar now realised just how grim the legatus' face was. "You must inform Empress Pina and the JSDF of what happened here – everything, Tellar! – for the moment you've reached the Capital, you _might_ be all that's left of this expedition."

–TWG–

_Tokyo – Japan_

_1:05 PM_

The battlefield was a symphony of death and destruction; wherein armaments were musical instruments – with an added lethal flair – and their operators the musicians. Each soldier a skillful musician proficient with their weaponry as they performed for the heavenly gods of war.

The soldiers of the Oceania Accords marched unrelentingly, advancing and crushing – no, butchering – any foe they encounter. The Saderans' attempts to repel them were completely futile, their resistance was like water against concrete. The streets were a testament of the extent of the bloodshed; the blood of thousands creating literal rivers of red as they filled every crevice, fissure and crater in the wartorn pavement.

The Oceanian forces were barely a fraction of the Saderan expedition, but they were enough to not only contend but repulse the latter in every engagement. As minutes continued to pass, the encirclement was getting smaller and smaller with a guaranteed Oceanian victory, and it was a noose closing on the Saderans' collective necks.

Infantry and Armour elements were at the forefront of the assault, who were in turn led by the Elite Guard and the Warden-General himself. The Air complement, even far fewer than their Saderan counterparts, has usurped the airspace and has driven those of the enemy near their FOB and is now giving ground support while more and more troops are being deployed directly to the front by transports both terrestrial and aerial.

The Saderans continued sustaining astronomical losses and their lines were collapsing, maintained only by those who had yet to do battle, those too controlled by the Oprichnina or those too stubborn to consider retreat. The survivors of such attacks arrived in the main camp and were causing more problems for the leadership, with only the draconian Oprichnina keeping everything from descending into chaos.

–TWG–

"Charge! Raise spears! We outnumber these beasts."

Jaron charged alongside his fellow cavalrymen in a narrow street flanked by buildings. He joined the war cry as they increased their momentum, steadying his spear forward – pointed to pierce the beating heart of their enemies.

_So these are the creatures terrorising our men. _Iron beasts they were called. The pack reciprocated the gesture of the Saderans and left the scene of their previous carnage for a fresh one. It was a grisly sight; men and demihumans lie dead on a street smeared by their own blood. They were all viciously mauled with most already dead, but an unfortunate few were alive writhing and groaning in agony – one centaur torn in two!

The pack consists of six of these creatures, galloping at them with abandon.

"Aim for the joints!" Jaron was confident. _We outnumber them. We shall prevail!_

They were faster and more numerous, meaning they can gain momentum faster and have more force to strike the creatures, who are – on the other hand – a pack of six.

When they were just a few meters away, two of the beasts closest to the sides leapt onto the wall, affixing themselves before pouncing into the middle of the formation. He was caught off-guard as a rider far on the left had his face cleaved, and he felt drops of blood stained his face.

The remaining creatures leapt at the front, mostly avoiding the spears straightened at them and mauling those in the front line. One beast bit the head of their commander's mount and crushed its skull. He fell and he found himself in the jaws of the same creature.

Their stunt cut the unit in two; the frontlines were being mauled by four beasts while two kept the greater bulk preoccupied. The two beasts were impervious to their strikes as they worked in tandem cleaving the cavalrymen near them. Horses and men cried as they were dismembered and disemboweled. Chaos was quickly spreading in their ranks as the front ranks were rapidly torn apart. Those at the rear tried to overwhelm the two beasts by attacking altogether, but they unleashed their trump card; a column of fire erupted from their mouths to engulf those at the front. Jaron's horse panicked as the fire ended just in front of the rider before them and threw him to the ground. Morale finally shattered and all remaining riders galloped away.

Burning men and horses alike ran amok trying to put out the fires in vain, and they died a horrible death if the beasts hadn't finished them. Behind this curtain of fire were the dying screams of men that became fewer and fewer as they were cut down.

He attempted to run, but only succeeded for a few seconds before one of the beasts leapt in front. Jaron fell to the ground in shock and the creature pinned him by his arm. He cried in pain and terror as the limb was reduced to mush by the sheer force of it's paw.

Overwhelmed by fear, Jaron could only scream and raise his hand in futility at the claw arching towards him.

–TWG–

Besides the faint sounds of thunder, the footsteps were all that was audible in the street.

Immediately after they crossed to this terra incognita, two centuries of the first cohort of Legio Xaric were immediately deployed to the frontlines to supplement the forces there. Time was of the essence as one can tell by their brisk yet orderly pace. It wasn't just the stomping sandals of men, they were joined by the ground-shaking steps of the lumbering ogre in the rear, the thumping feet of orcs and the solid hooves of both centaurs and cavalry. Together, they number five hundred strong.

They knew nothing about the nature of the enemy, other than they were comparable to the daunted JSDF that was humbling the Empire. Most forces of the expedition were stationed in the Far East, away from the Capital, so they know little about the Men in Green other than the tales by the smallfolk or their fellow legionaries. They sounded formidable, but few in number. It's for this reason that many in the expedition are confident in this campaign as they have the numbers that their foe lacked so much. They were a destitute kingdom, which is why their warriors are so few to just police their large civilian population.

"Move with haste, we must punish these barbarians for their audacity!"

Of course, like all formations in the regime, elements of the Oprichnina were attached to ensure that the Emperor's will was carried out. The legionaries dared not convey their thoughts, lest they and their families be subject to their authority.

"We are sons of the Empire, we have endured calamities from time to time and so shall we again!" The Oprichnina were giving rousing words to motivate them, which appeared to be working. "We shall not be cowed by the cowardly magika of barbarians. They are weak, reliant on distance and fragile up close!"

The formation's advance halted when all of a sudden, a wyvern fell in front.

No, _crashed_ would be a better term given that It was dead; riddled with holes that a few recognised to be all too similar with the iron pegasi fielded by the JSDF. Parts of its body were ablaze, and it's stomach ruptured front and back. There were signs of physical struggle; the scales on its body were cracked as if something _punched _it and it lacked a wing – _torn _from the looks of it. It's neck was broken along with its other wing.

It was an unnerving sight as they stopped in front of the battered smoking carcass, even the Oprichnina were mesmerised. The Wyvern Corps were a daunted force of the Empire for generations, and to see one of their numbers defeated like this…

There was a startled cry as something fell in the middle of the formation. It was the rider. His entire face smeared with blood that came from his mouth, while his chestplate was dented as if someone of great strength punched him.

The two sights were out of reach for many in the rear, but their attention was drawn elsewhere. Not in the ground, but in the sky. Word slowly spread and the audience grew larger groups by groups: Something was in the sky.

Contrasting the cloudy horizon were four massive figures. High in the sky but close enough for them to detail their appearance; kept stationary by the fires streaming from their backs and legs. No, they weren't burning; fire rises up into the air, not _down, _especially in a thin concentrated spread.

The figures were armoured… _too_ armoured to be considered a man; there weren't any exposed parts in their armour for limbs to move seamlessly. So they concluded these beings to be golems instead, sentient personages of the earth given life by skilled magicians.

Their arms were a pair of weapons. Only one of their numbers carried no weapon, but in his hand was something that evoked more terror than the strange objects of his brethren.

A dragon's lone wing hung from his arm, it's scales matching to the dead beast blocking their advance. Vice-grip crushed the beast's thick hide like clay as fire continued to ravage the flesh.

When the realisation set in, the same golem made a headlong towards them, casting the torn wing aside, followed by its brethren. "Don't just stand there!" the Oprichnina snapped the Saderans out of stupor. "Archers, fire volley!"

However, the formation was too panicked – too overcome by indecision to respond adequately to this threat until it was too late. Only the archers were an exception as they drew arrows from their quivers. A few were sent upon the golems, but were either missed or bounced off.

The four golems split; two landed atop the colossal pile of rubble on the sides while the remaining struck the ground. One landed on the battered hide of the wyvern with a crunch, its weapon roaring continuous thunder and spitting torrents of metal that peppered the front ranks.

The other golem – the weaponless one – directly struck them by going for the middle of the formation. It's massive feet flattened the head of an unfortunate legionary; the poor son of Sadera barely registered the pain on his shocked face as his body was crushed top-down. The remaining force was still powerful, as it sent the entire century to the ground.

This created space for the golem, it rose and summoned two long blades from it's wrists and systematically cut down those within reach. Nevertheless, the legionaries charged at the being that towered over them all, hoping to overwhelm it with numbers. It was comparable to a heavily armoured knight wielding two broadswords, but the difference is that this creature's attacks were swifter and It doesn't tire. This is a golem, it's stamina limitless. Their only hope was to find what animates the creature and destroy it.

Virtually, the entire formation was trying to swarm it – from the cavalry to the orcs. But they all fell in their attempts, the golem wasn't only swinging his blades but was also launching explosive projectiles from his arms and shoulders.

It was the same case for the golem atop the wyvern. Seeing its weapons insufficient to stem the tide, it summoned two more atop its shoulders, doubling its firepower.

The other two golems provided covering fire for their brethren with their own terrifying weapons; one unleashed a pair of luminous beams of blue that slagged metal and scorched flesh while the other splattered them with fireballs that were difficult to put out. Attempts to climb the rubble and reach them were difficult and wasn't worth the effort, they were quickly noticed and killed.

With their ranks breaking so quickly, the ogre charged from the rear, its war hammer raised to crush the golems. This earned him the attention of the golems and was dealt with coordinately. A laser to the chest and fireball on the face. It screamed in agony and threw away its burning helmet, leaving its burnt face vulnerable to attack. The melee golem propelled itself to its new target, it's thrusters burning those behind it. Long blades made a deep incision on its neck before jumping past as the ogre collapsed on the ground, dead as well as those it unwittingly crushed. A puddle of red expanding from its neck.

The death of their strongest weapon was the last straw for the formation. Morale plummeted and terror filled the vacuum as men made a mad dash to escape wherever they can. The Oprichnina – who had gathered in the rear – were unsuccessful in stemming the tide of panicked men and auxilia, many managing to squeeze their way out.

"Cowards! " An Oprichnina pointed his sword at the retreating legionaries. "You dishonour our-"

Slowly, the Oprichnina were slain by those they herded to their pointless deaths as they reached their breaking point.

"To Hardy with the cleaners!" A centurion swung his sword and decapitated the Oprichnina blocking his way. But his efforts were in vain as two massive blades erupted from his stomach, before being cut into two.

Even with the enemy broken, the golems continued their assault. Some fell to their knees – wounded – and begged for mercy, but were answered by their weapons. A few even slit their throats when escape was impossible.

After just a few minutes, the two century strong formation was no more; only the dead and dying for the carrion birds to feast. All of them perished in agony and dishonour, most never having swung their blades or launched arrows at their strange killers. Dismembered, disemboweled or burned while the golems strode in the area for survivors and executed them.

One legionary was trying to crawl in vain when the blade-wielding golem lifted him by his feet. He was groaning from his injuries as well as the vice grip around his heel.

"P-Please..." He clasped his hand tightly as tears streamed down his forehead. It may not understand his language, so he gestured. "Mercy!"

He knew it would understand, but he wasn't expecting what happened next. There was a distorted laugh before it spoke in an unknown tongue to its brethren.

"Regardez-le! Il me demande de pitié." Soon enough, two more gathered around and shared a laugh; finding humour in the man's agony and helplessness.

One of them approached, punching him in the stomach and causing him to gag. Next, he screamed as his sadistic captor made a long incision on his bare hip, blood flowing down profusely and there wasn't anything he could do to relieve the pain.

"Jean!" came a stern call directed to the golem holding him. All heads turned to see the last golem approaching, the one that summoned beams of light from his weapon. By his tone, he was the commanding figure of the three. "Qu'est-ce que tu pensais, c'était imprudent! Charger au milieu de la formation ennemie?! Es-tu fou!"

His captor has its own defense. "Calmez-vous, chef. Ils ont aucune chance de nous blesser avec leurs armes. On porte des armures, c'est impossible."

There was a pause until the golem spoke again. "Bien." It swivelled its head around the carnage they just wrought. "Cette zone est clair. Allons-y, le Gardien-Général veut tout les forces d'avancer, le Directeur- veut que toutes les forces pour continuer d'avancer." Fire erupted from the golem's back and feet, causing it to rise upward. The other two weren't far behind.. "Et tuez-le!"

Watching its brethren rise to the air, the golem dropped him on his back before planting its feet on his stomach. The legionary groan as he felt the weight of the construct on him, and for a moment he feared that he'd be crushed to death.

But his death was worse than he imagined. Now the same fire erupted from this golem's back, but he wasn't rising yet. It seemed that fire needed to erupt from...

The horrifying realisation set in. _No… no, no!_ But before he can send another plea, fire erupted from its feet – one of said feet being on him. The sheer force of the fire blew open his stomach, quickly incinerating his organs as he screamed in agony, the fire spreading throughout his prone body. He felt every agonising moment before his life came to a merciful end, a cruel and unusual death he was unfortunate enough to suffer.

–TWG–

Alexander Pelham wasn't sure if he was dreaming, drunk, or had completely lost his mind when faced with the reality before him. As a member of the Elite Guard, he was rigorously trained to face any manner of foes for the safety of their patron official.

He never imagined using that training against historical constructs.

Alex, as called by his colleagues, could imagine everyone feeling the same without an ounce of doubt. The statewide alert made them… well, alert and ready to mobilise when reports of unknown hostile forces appeared in Tokyo, but nearly skidded to a halt when they discovered that they're fighting Romans. He actually thought it was a terrible joke at first, possibly a glitch in the surveillance drones. That was the assumption until they were deployed to see them firsthand.

Multiple elements of the Elite Guard supplanted the local garrison; those under the direct command of the Warden-General himself, or those – such as his squad – allocated across the vanguard to support the regular forces.

They numbered around two-hundred and fifty soldiers, but they were holding their own against an entire legion of five thousand, not counting the humanoid auxiliaries. Numbers, though intimidating on paper, meant nothing when you have the firepower to offset that advantage; the enemy has swords, shields, arrows and multitude of freaks, but they have guns, tanks and other special weapons. Even without air support, they can overpower them.

The bulk consisted of regular troopers, with only three Elite Guard squads attached to support them. Even in the massed formation, Elite Guardsmen were easily distinguishable from the regular troopers armour-wise.

It was functionally identical, but with a different pattern and more armoured. Two features were the most striking; the balaclava-like helmet with visors and the dual crimson shoulder capes independent of one another.

The fighting was strongest in the center, he knew because his squad was positioned there.

"_Focus fire on the cavalry."_ The SQUADLINK ensured a channel exclusive to the use of his squad alone, allowing his order to be heard clearly amidst the deafening weapons fire. Beside him, Angus and Ramos were quick to comply and brought their gauss rifles to bear down on the warsteads. Together, American, British and Spaniard decimated the front ranks along with other troopers that took notice, they were no more in a matter of seconds.

Similar events played from the sides. A formation on the right made the foolish decision of charging a unit with attached purifiers, getting incinerated by their flamethrowers as a result. That broke the charge and routed the survivors only to be gunned down as they retreated. Farther on the right side, a similar charge was made and incinerated, this time it was a dreaded flame tank that unleashed twin firestorms that burned everything.

"_Fucking bastards keep coming."_ Hans remarked, ambivalent whether someone will respond or not. He continued bombarding the Roman formations with his grenade launcher. "_The fuck's motivating them?!"_

"_These guys have their own commissars, those dog-hatted men at the back."_ Louis radioed the German after blowing up the head of a commissar, who was struggling with a panicked legionary. As the squad's sniper, he went to a vantage point in a ruins beside the squad, on the third floor where he methodically terminated targets. "_Been shooting them since I positioned here, and I got another one down."_

"_The grunts are motivated by fear ya sod; take the head, the body collapses."_ Angus interjected, the Englishman not sparing at glance at any of his comrades as he continued to pepper the Roman lines with his gauss rifle.

The Oceanians were advancing steadily but surely, even as the Romans put up a staunch defense that saw hundreds die in seconds. The enemy was losing a lot of assets in their attempt to stall the inevitable.

Oceanian battle-chatter was active in the coordinated assault, effectively organising themselves unlike the rabble-like leadership of the Romans whose means of organisation is concentrated under their officers.

_[Keep at it men. This is a fucking turkey shoot!]_ Two charging roman centuries were whittled down mere meters from their original position under combined firepower, it happened so suddenly that the officers only realised it after some seconds before they joined the corpses of their men.

An armoured ogre appeared from an intersection, roaring with its warhammer raised. _[Salvo that big ugly fuck!]_ An Oceanian MBT responded with an HE round straight to its head, pulverising it in a shower of red. Its carcass crushed those underneath.

_[Incoming!]_

Alex looked up to see many boulders descending from the sky. "Cover!" It took his whole squad a few moments to dive away just as a boulder slammed at them. Louis had to retreat deeper into the ruin as another struck his original vantage point, crushing the foundation and leaving him exposed.

Several more followed, the barrage striking the entire formation. The Oceanians attempted to strike them down through combined firepower of their gauss weapons with the help of the auto-targeting turrets of their IFVs, each accelerated round strong enough to chip away a portion of the projectile, its fragments harmlessly falling into the ground. Although the gaussian storm of metal destroyed many, the sheer number overwhelmed them, striking a few vehicles and some troopers.

For a moment, the entire advance halted as they reeled at the attack.

_[Enemy artillery in use. We sustained casualties!]_

_[My leg!]_

_[I got a man down! Help me push this rock!]_

_[Medic!]_

"Everyone alright?" Angus asked, not bothering with the SQUADLINK and asking with his own voice.

Alex did a quick scan of his squad. All of them were intact, even Louis as he took another vantage point. "We're good. Return fire." They returned to mowing down the enemy force. "We need to deal with the enemy artillery. I'm going to call in air support!"

"_Ehhh... autre probleme."_ Louis said from atop. "_Look above, enemy air cav's back!"_

Looking up, they could see the unmistakable figures of the dragon cavalry. All were perched atop the surrounding ruins behind the enemy formation, none flying yet...

Another storm of boulders came and fell past the dragons, who rose into the air not long after.

–TWG–

"So few of them, but too powerful to fight." Tavus murmured to himself, watching the battle below alongside the other riders.

The Wyvern Corps were exclusive to the nobility, as only they have the wealth and knowledge to tame such beasts. He was a nobleman himself, but he wasn't Old Blood; a term denoting inherited nobility by virtue of birthright. It was something he earned after saving a noble's only child held for ransom by bandits, who awarded him with the title as a reward for his efforts.

But it didn't matter anymore, he had been stripped of his barony by the orders of Zorzal El Caesar.

His escape had failed, but he can't blame himself for trying to; having been dragged by the self-proclaimed Emperor during their exodus to Telta like many others. There was no use in fighting the JSDF, better to spare his family from the conflict.

In a rare show of mercy, Zorzal had agreed to spare his wife and daughter. But even that proved sadistic as he was press ganged into Viscount Herm's latest tactic like all _treasonous _elements in the nobility.

One that would claim his life.

"This is it, my friend. Know that it's been an honour fighting with you for many battles, but the gods have dictated this to be our last." He comforted his mount, who grunted solemnly. Amarr too accepted the unwanted fate forced upon them, and it laid bare for all to see.

The wyvern was dressed in a net filled to the brim with barrels, each bearing a seal of enchantment by Godasen and his magicians in preparation for the conquest. Though small, it was the quantity burdened by his mount that it was difficult to ascend but he carried on.

The second barrage now descended into the barbarians. It's time.

The call finally came. "To the skies!" one hundred dragon cavalrymen took to the air and into the enemy, screaming their war cries and praises to their gods. Tavus let them get slightly further before joining them. Their charge hadn't gone unnoticed and the front ranks were quickly assailed by the enemy's metallic arrows. Many fell in just a few strikes, but all pressed on towards the barbarian lines.

Given their predicament, it was easier to descend than ascend due to their additional weight. Amarr was mostly gliding, only flapping his wings if needed. Tavus had put his training to use for one last time, expertly avoiding the felled dragons and the enemy's arrows. It did help that they were at the rear, meaning the front ranks will bear the brunt of them.

As one, rider and mount accelerated towards the barbarian formation. He has already found a target in the left, a two-snouted iron beast that spat fire from them.

They were few, so this attack would devastate them.

He was almost there when he became the last of his group, but it was too late for them to do anything. Their cold composure transitioned to frantic horror upon discovering his target.

This is an example of Herm's genius. He lacked any weapon, because they _were_ the weapon.

In their final moments, mount and rider let of a scream of angered despair until a great fire snuffed their lives.

In one single moment, the bodies of Tavus and Amarr were vaporised. In their place, a bright thunderous flash that shook the entire battlefield with the power of a god's concentrated wrath and cracked the very pavement below. It was strong enough to shake the precarious foundations of what towering ruins that remained standing in the test of time, to the point that some portions looked ready to fall or even fell outright, crushing anyone unlucky in their encroaching embrace with the earth.

But the most affected were the Oceanians, and the results were magnified by the fact that it was the flame tank that was targeted, the volatile fluids empowering the blast. Those closest to the suicide attack had the mercy of a painless death, their bodies incinerated quick enough for the nervous system to react. Armour and flesh turning in slag and ash in a microsecond after the impact, the intense heat having transformed their composition instantly.

The same mercy cannot be afforded to those in the periphery, far enough to register the effects of the explosion. Men and vehicles were thrown away like garbage afire, some completely yet others partially.

One attack by the Saderans. Half of the Oceanian force dead.

–TWG–

The _Hell's Gate_ can be likened to a fortress on tracks.

Imperious. Impervious. Imposing; the power of a dozen tanks consolidated in one.

Vindicating its status as a mobile fortress, the superheavy tank was armed to the teeth by weapon emplacements dispersed all around its massive frame; four flamethrowers at the corners, two missile launchers at the sides and four autocannons at the front and back.

Many were burned, gunned and obliterated by these weapons. The Romans have tried and failed to stop the advance of this iron juggernaut but failed horrendously, dying horrific deaths instead.

Undying. Unrelenting. Unforgiving.

Although quite unnecessary, a contingent of Elite Guardsmen followed as escorts. They were at the rear, so as to not be caught in the Hell's Gate's warpath.

However, the main gun was the most powerful weapon in the arsenal; a spinal-mounted particle cannon whose size and power made it look more suited to a naval vessel than an earth-cruising vehicle. Only the head of the barrel was exposed, the rest was underneath the head of the tank. But its power had a price. In order to contain the sheer force it can deliver, the tank's head was fixed to the body, not axial like that of the others. This meant that the Hell's Gate must turn in order to aim and use its primary weapon.

Fortunately for the Romans, it had remained silent throughout the operation and its ammunition unspoiled.

At least until they reached the main encampment.

But the Hell's Gate wasn't just a superheavy tank, a fist to strike the enemy head-on. It was also a command vehicle, an operational nerve centre where battleplans are conducted, overseen and assessed.

Within were the commanders of the operation: the Warden-General, his Hound and the COs of the participating military units.

They surrounded an instrument of war, indispensable as a calculator would to a mathematician and a bible to a priest. The holotable was the size and shape of a stone table. Its surface was of glass, projecting a blue three-dimensional layout of a battlefield the ghetto had become. It was detailed adequately with their forces coloured green while the Romans coloured – quite appropriately – red.

The noose was tightening on the Romans, more and more were retreating close to their main encampment and so were the resistance getting intense.

Ground Zero was located beside what was once the Fushigi-yagura Keep, where the bulk of the camp's forces were.

So far, everything was going according to plan. But as the famed Prussian General Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke once said. "_**No plan survives contact with the enemy."**_

An entire unit of the first-wave was just gutted; their forces halved in an instant. Now it was imperative to know how, since this was a concerning development that could affect the operation.

_[A dragon just went straight towards us and exploded, troops say that it was dressed in a net full of barrels. Heavy casualties. Romans are now charging, all of them. Artillery keeps pounding us. We won't be able to hold.]_

Isak gave his order. _[Panther-Two, this is Fenrir. I'm sending in Panther-Four to reinforce your position, seven-fifty meters from the rear. Do a tactical retreat until reinforcements arrive.]_

_[Roger that, Fenrir. Panther Two Actual out.]_

"A kamikaze attack?" Armend raised an eyebrow as he summoned a small display in his hand showing the decimated group, who were quickly reforming into an organised retreat. Wounded but unbeaten, Panther-Two kept firing in addition to hurling more and more explosives at the Romans, who had seized the opportunity and charged en masse. No more formations, just an all-in charge to kill the troopers once and for all. "Considering that it dive-bombed a flame tank of all things, the explosive yield was amplified."

"It's tactically ingenious, sir. They can't harm us in a traditional manner, so they strap themselves with explosives and try to rush us, using the others as meat shields; devastating, but cost-inefficient. I didn't expect them to be this desperate… although it was bound to happen sooner or later"

Armend chuckled. "When all the cards are stacked against you, you'll do anything to change your predicament." He continued. "It brings back memories, Jap kamikazes streaking down from the skies towards our ships and formations as we ravaged their empire and homeland."

"What's concerning is if more of these Roman… kamikazes..." Isak couldn't believe his own words. "Are out there. The enemy must have kept them in reserve, a trump card should the tide turn against them."

"That tide has already turned the moment I ordered the attack." The Swiss commander corrected his confidant. "Nevertheless, alert the men of this development. I want them neutralised at a moment's notice."

"Yes sir. And what of Panther-Two's predicament?"

Instead of delegating, Armend opened a channel to give the order himself. "Saber, I got coordinates for a strafing run."

–TWG–

1:20 PM

The screams of a burning trooper were silenced, his helmeted head jerking back at the force of a bullet moments before he was cut down by an advancing roman from behind.

Alex quickly swung his line of fire back to the advancing tide of Romans. The formation was in a precarious situation right now. The tables have turned against them and now the enemy's numerical superiority has transcended from a manageable threat following the attack that took out half of their two-hundred fifty strong force.

The surviving elements quickly reorganised for a retreat while the Romans charged, abandoning all semblance of organisation as they raced to spill their blood.

Reinforcements wouldn't arrive until some time. To compensate, the Oceanians intensified their attacks; MBTs were now firing on masses instead of just the large monsters while demolition troopers were hurling more and more grenades and planting more and more mines, which would be quickly disarmed when they would advance again.

The only thing constant was the fusillade of gauss rounds that tore apart their front ranks without pity; proud men and mighty beast becoming softened swiss cheese. No blade tasted blood and no shield stood strong, useless against the storm of metal. Yet their fanaticism drove them, and no enemy was more dangerous than a fanatic even if all odds are stacked against you.

_[Panther-Two, this is Panther-Four Actual. We heard you guys lost control of the party and took a beating, so don't mind if we crash in and ruin your fun.]_

"_Seriously?"_ Angus groaned, exasperated. "_Just help us!"_

Alex would've voiced his agreement had he bothered. There was no point of wasting a thought in the current situation. If anything, it was a distraction even for a moment. The legion may still be far, but the idea of archers interspersed in their disorganised ranks was too close for comfort. If he had to guess, those in the front are now in range.

It doesn't sit well with him, and so he couldn't afford taking his attention off.

Panther-Two totalled to 250 troopers; subtract half and you get 125, then add another company of Panther with the same amount of troops and now you get 375; much more than their original number. It's all speculation, since they have lost additional soldiers who failed to regroup in time or were too wounded by the kamikaze attack. But It was more than enough to handle the advancing tide of Romans that threatened to drown them in blood and steel.

Panther-Four quickly engaged the roman legion as soon as they were in range, while demolitions troopers moved to disarm the mines they've planted. Only a few detonated during their retreat, mostly those in their original position which was now passed by the enemy lines.

While it was good that reinforcements finally arrived, the issue with the roman catapults still remained. Their tanks could've neutralised them earlier had they not been placed behind the cover of rubble and small buildings, ensuring protection as well as the capability to fire their stone projectiles.

The problem was soon solved when a squadron of Oceanian aircraft passed overhead, strafing the ranks of the Romans with a combination of ballistic and explosive ordinances until striking the location of the enemy artillery, turning the strong wood into splinters that maimed their operators and those unfortunate enough to be nearby.

_[This is Saber Two-Three Actual. Artillery is neutralised. Move in!]_

The loss of their strongest weapons and death of many men in a short span obliterated the inflated morale they had gained from their previous victory. Now they were in a full-scale retreat as they removed everything that would slow them down in this field of slaughter. And so, the galvanised Oceanians advanced ever methodically. Rank upon rank of black armoured troopers gunning down the retreating Romans in sight. Many tried to surrender to them, hoping for leniency.

Yet no quarter was given. Romans were shot in the head or peppered throughout the body as they bled to death, others thrown to the ground and beaten relentlessly until they expired, the latter was more evident with the troopers of Panther Two due to the devastating attack they suffered. Some screamed as they were either crushed by the underside of unheeding vehicles or mauled by the unmerciful panzerhunds.

Not all that stayed behind remained to surrender, they hid behind the ruins and rushed at the opportune moment. It was mostly a single man but there were few groups. There was some success in a way that they injured a trooper before dying, but most were foiled by gunfire or the vigilant panzerhunds.

–TWG–

_1:40 PM_

As a man who has defied the odds and survived battles against an otherworldly force from time to time again, Pullus always wondered how long his luck would endure should the war against the JSDF drag on. His miraculous survivability was always divinely ordained, living for another day while others perish by the will of the Gods.

The fabled veteran had long concluded that it must have something to do with his pious upbringing, his parents never worshipped a single deity like some do and instead venerated the entire pantheon. To put their words simply, one god cannot offer all and all are equal. They imparted this belief in him. Additionally, he had never committed a transgression and was an honourable man to his human beings – even the enslaved – compared to the usual sanctimony demonstrated by the nobility.

Tellar's family was in safe hands now, as everyone in the camp was too preoccupied with the Legati's new orders for any distractions. He didn't stay to watch them leave like an optimistic sort, he was already certain that they would succeed. A curt farewell to Tellar after imparting his warning, he departed to rejoin his legion; time was of the essence here, figuratively and literally. Word about his outburst probably spread around the camp by now and the Oprichnina would keep an eye on him given his… reputation among the soldiery; better he gets back to his legion else they vent their antagonism towards them.

He was never popular with the nobility anyway. The aristocrats grew accustomed to having the reigns of power in every institution, a particular case in the military. To have a plebian on their level was definitely an insult to their pride. His popularity among the legionaries was a salt to their wounds, one that irked them to no end.

Regardless, it matters not now that he had crossed into the terra incognita. The Gate had manifested on palatial grounds, which naturally contained fortifications that the Renegades were quick to make use of. The area was quickly converted into their main foothold should the plethora of tents be any indication along with the marching legionaries and hectic metalworking.

The walls were manned with archers and ballistae as the sappers built gates of heavy wood around the entrances.

As fortuitous the place was, Pullus couldn't help but be unnerved by the macabre atmosphere of the area, it was closer to a slaughterhouse than palatial grounds. Entire walls and floors were bloodstained to such an extent as if someone was _painting_ them with that. The area bore the telltale marks of fires; no grass grew from the blackened soil while scorched trees stood as ominous monuments. Ashes littered the streets along with the skeletal and rotting remains of what were once people, the stench was strong and had to be disposed of in the dangerously polluted moats beyond the walls.

"What happened out there, Aemilius?" Even Pullus dreaded the words he said. His tone was normal, but the connotation was that of dread.

He carried a sleeping Calliope on his arms, and he would've smiled at her innocent bliss had the situation not been dire. Why he carried her was because Cara was kneeling to comfort visibly shaken Aemilius, who was lying on a blanket.

The medical tent was large since it was designed to be able to treat many injured at once. And indeed, it was filled to the brim with injured legionaries. The medicae were moving from patient to patient, trying to help in any way they can. Consequently, the air was thick with copper, no doubt from the injuries – fresh and treated – of the legionaries.

All of them were part of attack forces sent towards the barbarians of this terra incognita, and the only survivors that escaped their centuries' annihilation.

He was looking down on the aforementioned legionary lying on a blanket. He was one of the injured legionaries who were lucky to get back alive, and his eyes show the terror he felt fighting the otherworldly force.

"It-It was terrifying, sir Valerii. We never stood a chance." Aemilius picked his words, tightening his hold on Cara's hand. "We were marching to the front lines when we-we… we came across a group of barbarians in a wide street. Their armour was black like coal and they carried equally black staffs. We outnumbered them, our numbers supplanted by the auxilia and we were confident in our victory. We charged, the cavalry riding upfront to spill first blood while we followed behind. It took the barbarians seconds to kill them all before they turned their attention on us. They were killing us in droves, without honour nor mercy while we never had the honour of swinging our blades. It wasn't long before our charge became a rout, but the Oprichnina kept us from escaping. The cleaners were so preoccupied by our attempts that they didn't notice the iron beast behind them, mauling most of them in a single swipe."

Pullus looked down from the young legionary's face and winced. His body was toned like other legionaries, but the torso was covered in a large white blanket, showing three lines of deep red from his shoulder and down to the corner of his abdomen. It was a miracle he survived that.

Aemilius noticed his gaze. "I was struggling with an Oprichnina when he was cleaved from behind; painful, but I thank the gods that only the tips of its claws cut me. I was bleeding as I escaped with the others, pursued by the same beast and its barbarian masters. Our numbers were greatly thinned when we reached camp, we were very fortunate since not a minute later the gates were closed to anyone outside."

"This must be the power of the people in the JSDF's world." Aemilius said, his tone carried the same fear that can be found in his eyes. "I've only heard tales, but now I've seen it with my own eyes. What chance do we have against that?"

Aemilius was afraid and it wasn't without reason. Unlike Pullus and Gaius, he has never fought the JSDF since the debacle in Alnus. He had been transferred to the eastern regions months before – joined by Cara – along with many other legionaries, in order to deal with the bandits and greenskins plaguing the region. They couldn't relegate the task to the local vassals that time since they were understrength and restricted to defending their territories.

While it spared them of the carnage consuming the Saderan heartland, it left the eastern legions woefully unaware of the enemy they were currently fighting.

"Are the barbarians taking prisoners? How were they taken?" It was something Pullus had to know immediately. He was there in the very beginning when they crossed towards the Kingdom of Japan, and he had seen many taken prisoner as they all raced to the Gate when their conquest faltered. Pursuing them alongside the JSDF's soldiers and their iron beasts were a force identical to legionaries; clad in armour and bearing shields, but armed with sticks instead of blades. While some of the still prideful soldiers jeered at this, he saw the intent. They aimed to subdue – to pacify – and not kill. It would be months before he learned from an acquaintance in the Rose Order, that thousands have been taken and kept to gather information and serve as bargaining tools.

"I've heard from some survivors that made their way into the camp. They told of how those that surrendered or abandoned were subdued with utmost brutality then loading them into the belly of these… self-moving wagons. But that was earlier in the conflict, their wagons have now left and the barbarians are no longer taking prisoners from their attacks. They're killing everything in their path."

_This is bad. _The fear knotting his stomach tightened. The foe they are fighting are truly different this time, lacking the valour and honour of the Japanese.

His musings were interrupted when the horns were blown. Everyone in the medical tent froze, for It meant only one thing.

"They have reached us." He muttered, just before distant thunder broke out and the screams that followed.

–TWG–

_1:45 PM_

Sure enough, the walls were completely surrounded. A tense standoff arose between the forces of two worlds; one to conquer and the other to punish. Yet… no shot was being fired, to the confusion of both sides who assumed an immediate engagement. Instead, a heavy and uneasy quietude.

But it was the Saderans who were feeling a significant pressure. Between them and the Oceanians were a field of corpses, each one killed in a fashion of unrestrained brutality. They were witness to a scene of tantamount butchery and a display of power, for those were the corpses of legionaries forsaken by the Legati to continue fighting. Carnage, beginning immediately when the enemy appeared; their first line of defence, one that was swept aside in a matter of seconds.

They kept their bows drawn, ready to release their volley at a moment's notice. The Oceanians likewise did the same, their fingers remaining in the trigger.

But the Oceanians weren't the only problem of the Saderans. Unrest had taken hold behind the walls at the proximity of the enemy; the citizens of the Empire support war, but they only know of war in the safe confines of their homes and behind the stalwart ranks of their brave men. They know not the feeling of the enemy being so close, nor that they were more powerful than their legions. And so, panic consumed the camp followers.

Those inside had to placate the rioting citizenry, as many were already making their way into the War Camp's centre and away from the walls. A task nigh-impossible to do, as the camp was in complete chaos.

The conscripted camp followers, in the middle of training when the horns sounded, were immediately muster. They were no soldiers, yet given a spare blade, shield and armour to fight. They never wanted this fate, yet merciless commissars coerced them. Boys and old men unsuited for war, lacking the strength and fortitude of an adequate warrior in mind and body. Peasants who had only worked the fields, servants who only cleaned dishes, and traders whose craft only involved currency.

In this chaotic situation, only a scant few onlookers noticed how they were formed into separate formations and placed before the actual legionaries.

They have been armed, but never intended to be fighters. Shields. Human shields to absorb the enemy's attack.

It seemed that not even the conscripts themselves noticed. Too overtaken by dread to realise their predicament.

"All units have arrived. We are now ready to press on." Isak reported. The commanders regarded the haptic displays of the camp, showing the situation behind the walls.

Armend smiled, teeth bared at the chaos within the camp shown by the overhead drones. It was always amusing to see discord taking hold for practical and personal reasons. For one, the enemy is disorganised and will be more predictable, their resolve and will crumbling. Another, dread and panic were pleasing sights. It was plastered openly in their faces, even those that hid it he could see from their bodies.

The overall situation was an example of the cyclical nature of history, as the old aphorism "history repeats itself" says. Hundreds of years ago, Attila the Hun had rampaged across the Roman Empire and had even reached the northern regions of their Italian heartland. All that prevented him from sacking Rome was the efforts of one man: Pope Leo I. By means forever lost in the sands of time, the clergyman convinced the Scourge of God to turn back and leave Rome alone.

This one was a smaller comparison. Romans invaded out of expansionism, barbarians – them – forced them back and surrounds their heartland. Only this time, Armend doubted they have their own Pope Leo the First or anything similar to convince him to turn back, even if they do then the cleric will find him unreasonable. He will secure Ground Zero, even if he must enact another massacre within the former Imperial residence similar to the one he did two decades ago.

He had contemplated calling a squadron to cleanse the entire area barring Ground Zero. It would make things easier and their advance wouldn't be stifled by the desperate resistance of the Romans. Though pragmatic, he eschewed the idea for the traditional solution; namely, brute force. The air units have done their part in this operation, and the rest was the army's to complete.

And so, he ended the tense quietude with a single command.

"Fire."

The _Hell's Gate's_ cannon – gargantuan by the standards of its brethren – fired in a deafening roar and both the gate – scratched and pounded countless times by the forsaken legionaries that lay dead at the base – and the gatehouse – mounted by faltering archers – were obliterated, sending rubble, wood and men crashing deep into the camp.

A testament of its power was that it sent a shockwave coursing throughout the area, sending people to the ground and causing ears to hurt.

Every Oceanian followed suit and depressed their respective triggers, capitalising on the shell-shock induced by the Hell's Gate's main armament. The other nine gates were blasted by tank fire while the infantry made quick work on the archers stationed on the walls, at least those that remained standing or were using said walls as support when the shockwave happened.

The Oceanians entered unopposed, armoured vehicles were at the forefront while troopers screened their flanks. All forces dispersed to secure the area. The Saderans inside tried to muster a defence and repel the barbarians that breached their camp, but were slaughtered in the first seconds of their attempt. The Oceanians were methodical, there was no mad scramble to secure the area. They scrutinised every tent before tearing it and subdued whoever they could find with force before rounding them up, those that resisted were shot.

Parameters have been reverted to take prisoners and any resistance will be dealt with utmost lethality. Orders were to subdue anyone regardless of apparent value, those that resist were to be terminated.

The contingent led by the _Hell's Gate_ did no such thing. Instead they raced towards Ground Zero, to capture it.

–TWG–

_1:55 PM_

The crowd around the Gate grew larger and larger from the arriving camp followers. With the enemy bearing down on the camp, the civilians were scrambling to escape back into Falmart. They didn't want this, coerced upon this terra incognita and they certainly do not want to be taken prisoner by these barbarians.

Predictively, the heart of the camp was anything but tranquil, it was a different level of chaotic; any indication that a battle was taking place was drowned by the clamour of the camp followers, seeking salvation through the Gate had it not been for the Oprichnina between them.

The cleaners have established a perimeter, their numbers worth a century if he could guess. These men eschewed the standard gear of the Oprichnina in favour of the heavy shields and armour used by legionaries, just repainted to show its association with the Oprichnina. With their shields, they formed a wall around the Gate. The Legatus Augusti's order still stands: no one leaves. They were stone-faced to the anger and desperation of the crowd before them, unmoved by the arguments of men, pleas of women nor the cries of children.

There have already been several instances of people trying to force their way through, but were cut down for their attempts. This measure served as an effective deterrence, but failed to quell the crowd regardless.

Moving through the mass of panicked individuals was Pullus, his eyes directed towards the line of Oprichnina. He was going to reason with them, vain but he was out of options. Aemilius insisted that he accompany him, but he declined. He was going to do this alone.

He approached the seniormost Oprichnina, who scowled at his presence like he was an unwelcome visitor. "Get back, Legatus Pullus! That's an order!"

"On my ass!" He retorted, his patience for the cleaners lost. "You have to let the people in, this isn't a safe place for them! It's only a matter of time before the enemy reaches us here."

"Then let them come, our legionaries will face them in a glorious battle. We still have a significant number of men held in reserve, and the barbarians will be crushed by our fortitude and might."

"Even if that's the case, the lives of the camp followers will be imperilled."

"If they want to live, they must take a sword and fight instead of clamouring here and being a burden."

"You are talking about conscripting men, women and children who are incapable of such things. Not all of them can be conscripted, they must escape while they still can! Now!"

"No one gets through!" The Oprichnina stressed. "We will uphold that order until this conquest has triumph-"

"THE CONQUEST IS LOST, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" Pullus has had it, letting his anger unleashed. "Many times we've tried to repulse the enemy, yet we failed to halt their advance and now they've broken through our stronghold. There's no glory here, we never conquered this land, this is Japan all over again thanks to the godsdamned fools leading us. We gained nothing but bring the wrath of another titan upon our people, one that is vicious unlike the JSDF! If reason still lingers in that-that hubris-ridden... head of yours." He dared jabbed his finger into the forehead of the Oprichnina, who was abashed by it. "You shall let them pass, or I will **kill** you!" To prove his point, he unsheathed his sword.

Instead of being cowed, a shield bash threw Pullus on the ground. "You dare threaten the Oprichnina, chosen by His Majesty to carry out his will?!" He moved forward and towered over the fallen veteran, and Pullus considerate side just realised what he had done. The crowd became momentarily silent as they backed away from Pullus, not wanting to get caught in what was going to happen. "Legatus Pullus Valerii, you have assaulted a member of His Majesty's Committee for Protecting and Restoring the Primacy and Authority of the Emperor and shall be punished accordingly." The Oprichnina raised his blade to strike down Pullus…

Had he not exploded into gore.

The grisly display caused a cascade of horrified screams while the Oprichnina tried to make sense of what just transpired before they too began to suffer the same fate.

Their answer came in the form of seven towering figures that dropped at the very front of the Gate and immediately began butchering the present Oprichnina.

Pullus was stunned at the grisly scene before the perpetrators arrived; seven towering figures dropped behind the Oprichnina, before the Gate's entrance where they continued to butcher them with their weapons. He shook himself out of the stupor and ran to get back to the medical tent. He pushed through the camp followers who were running away from the towering giants as they preoccupied themselves with the Oprichnina. The cleaners were no match for their weapons, and they fell in droves.

Only one of their numbers didn't attack. Instead it turned and experimentally sprouted fire on the Gate, to see if anyone was coming and attack their perimeter from the rear.

The camp followers scattered, only to turn back when the barbarians appeared on the periphery of the area. While not being killed outright, they often unleashed their weapons on unarmed men, women and children to impel their return. Some stopped and fell on their knees to beg, but were answered lethally.

This lasted until everyone was herded together in one area, and they could do nothing but huddled together in fear. An uneasy silence blanketed the area as the barbarians kept their vigil on his people, soulless gaze and black staffs pointed at them with understandable gestures; try anything, you die.

The same cannot be said elsewhere. Faint thunder and screams rang throughout the camp, getting weaker by each second. They prioritised capturing the Gate to stem the possibility of reinforcements and any of them escaping.

The tide had been too strong for Pullus to move. Instead of reuniting with Aemillius and Cara, he stood between his terrified people and the enemy. legionaries were intermixed with the crowd like spots of oil upon a body of water, distressed yet bore their shields to protect those behind them. Futile given the power of their weapons, but valiant nonetheless.

He moved his gaze from the line of soldiers, and into the contraption facing the Gate. He recognised some similarities to that of the wagons used by the JSDF, namely the so-called threads and the large 'snout' at the centre. But it all ended there, this thing eclipsed the Japanese's in terms of size. What's more were the plethora of weaponry mounted upon its frame, all which were pointed at them.

"Unhand me, you filthy barbarians!"

Pullus scowled. Atop the stone keep nearby, the barbarians dragging down the Legatus Augusti and his cronies. He found solace at the rough manhandling of the idiots responsible for this debacle, yet he hid it beneath his facade in case they saw him.

"UNHAND ME!" He repeated, spittle flying from his mouth. One of his handlers had enough and slammed his staff on his belly, causing his knees to weaken and his mouth to heave.

Some of the Legati were aghast at such treatment and made their opinion known. "How dare you!? Do you know who he is and who we are?!" The Legatus of Legio Xaric seethed. He was making every attempt to struggle against the hold of his captors and began his ramble. "We are from noble houses of the Empire, and we shall see to it that you and your people will pay dearly for this disrespect! I shall personally see the subjugation of your lands and the enslavement of your peop-"

A bang. His ramble ended abruptly into agonised wailing, one of his escorts drew a wand from the waist and used it to explode most of his upper jaw. The proud Legatus fell down on his knees clutching his ravaged face, screeching while the barbarians laughed at his agony. One of them kicked him down the slope and into the ground.

Pullus felt his blood run cold just like the formerly prideful Legati. Gone were their arrogance and sense of indignation, replaced by terror at what was done to their peer. The maimed Legatus was the centre of attention, as he was picked up by one of the giants guarding the Gate before the crowd, right in front of him to be exact.

As he was being carried, there was a development in the background. The remaining giants guarding the Gate parted to the sides and left the entrance's path clear. Pullus watched as dozens of the barbarians' infamous four-legged iron beasts galloped through, interspersed with lithe black humanoid figures – their nonhuman nature plain to see – that he'd never heard of, running at a speed that outpaced the beasts.

No doubt to clear and secure the camp for the barbarians' later use.

The maimed Legatus was dropped into the ground and laid there, the pain too intense for him to pay heed at the unwanted attention and pity. The nobleman was clutching his profusely-bleeding face, crying and wailing like a child in a manner unbefitting to a man of his status.

A small group of barbarians converged upon his fetal form with their weapons aimed, two independent capes billowing from their backs, and opened fire. Pullus remained petrified as they all witnessed the high and mighty Legatus literally torn to pieces by otherworldly weaponry; a grisly death. The intensity was such that specks of blood splattered on his face. Nothing recognisable was left after they ceased, just a red splatter of flesh and bone.

The despair was thick and palpable. Camp followers were comforting one another with hollow words and lucid dreams while the legionaries were at a loss of what to do and fearful of what lies ahead of them under the heel of the barbarians, some were even audibly hoping that the JSDF will come and rescue them. After all, didn't they possess the same mysterious arsenal of these barbarians?

Pullus hoped as well. No matter how much he desired, this was out of his control. The Gate has been usurped, and his people left at the mercy of the usurpers.

And so, he could do nothing but watch as their beasts continue charging through the Gate.

* * *

_It's widely agreed that everyone's the mere idea of fighting Armend Ziegler is terrifying, but that's nothing compared to being taken captive. Don't get me wrong. No one wants a horrible death, but it's better than that monster's _hospitality_. Your corpse could be hacked to pieces, crushed or something worse, but at least you're not confined to some asylum as a mindbroken loony. He knows how to break you and make you wish for death. _

_Do __**not**_ _let his soldiers take you alive. EVER! That's the first rule in any engagement against him._

– An unknown Oceanian Trooper.

* * *

AN: That's it for this chapter, people. I'm certain this has left you with a lot more questions than answers given that this wasn't within your expectations, this is a Wolfenstein AU of my own design after all. For that reason, this story is my first attempt at worldbuilding so excuse any flaws those experienced will notice and point them out so I can correct them as soon as possible. Not everyone starts a pro, after all, it takes practice.

Despite the changes, this is STILL Wolfenstein. The setting is just different. The Nazis are still around and so are the characters we love so much in the games. If you're disappointed by the turn of events and want to leave, that's your decision. All I'm asking is try to give this story a chance.

I've taken a lot of influences throughout worldbuilding, and you can tell from this chapter that _1984_ is one of them; we have two superstates in a perpetual state of war for global supremacy. Just think of TWG as a more sci-fi version of Orwell's work.

Lastly, this chapter officially introduces the story's villain protagonist Armend Ziegler, the Warden-General in charge of the hellhole Japan has become. I'm looking forward to writing more about this guy, because things are going to be dark here. The following chapter will contain more information on him, and _none_ of those is good.


	3. Dark Tidings

AN: Following the second chapter, where the _truth _was finally shown, another round of questions arose on the Oceania Accords truly is. The current assumption running right now is that the Oceania Accords is a puppet state of Nazi Germany, who are the main antagonists of the Wolfenstein series. Although I could just tell the truth there and then, I figured it would just confound the confusion so I refrained until the update. This chapter will hopefully clear things out, in addition to the (rough) world map I designed for my Wolfenstein AU. It's not very accurate to what I have in mind, but its just meant to give you an idea; if this story has become popular enough (and the world fleshed out even more), I might consider asking for a commission in Deviantart.

I really encourage readers in to visit Spacebattles, as I'm largely active there.

This has been Beta-read solely by quickdraw101. For some reason, TheDrkKnight12 has been inactive for some time if his unresponsiveness in is any indication. He did, however, contribute a bit to this chapter in its earlier stages so I won't exclude him from being thanked.

* * *

_"L'État, c'est moi."_

– Louis XIV, King of France (1643-1715)

* * *

_(The large crowd had fallen silent as the sovereign of the Oceania Accords stepped on the podium. Beside her were two Imperial Guardsmen serving as her bodyguards, fully armoured and attentive.)_

_Citizens of Oceania._

_I had hoped that my next speech before all of you would be of good tidings; a milestone, a victory, a reclamation or even just the continued stability of our borders._

_Unfortunately, it was not to be._

_The Heartland has been attacked. Days ago, the peace in six of our capitals was shattered by an enemy. The perpetrators were not the subversives within our nation nor our adversaries beyond the borders. I doubt that even they would have foreseen this._

_The question of whether parallel worlds exist has always puzzled philosophers and scientists alike. The Day of Blood answered that question in blood. The invaders came from another world brought into our own by portals they call "gates". They are known as the Saderan Empire in their world, a polity bearing the likeness of ancient Rome. Though they are a pre-industrial civilisation, they attacked despite the evidence of our superiority, either blind or delusional enough to declare war upon us._

_Many of you still disbelieve what you have seen or heard, but I tell you that this is the truth; confirmed by the efforts of Providence. To continue to deny what transpired is to insult the memory of the victims and their families. As Oceanians, we do not tolerate falsehoods; we embrace the truth no matter how grim it is, for it stands a testament of our spirit of perseverance and will to power. _

_Through means we're still trying to discover, they have disabled all working electronics in the cities. This crippled the capabilities of the Enforcement and delayed our response. We do not know how were they able to journey here, given they are only at pre-industrial levels yet are capable of summoning portals to other worlds. But one thing is certain._

_They have immediately defined themselves as barbarians, I am heartbroken that they had time to despoil and desecrate significant portions of the cities before we can respond. The bulk of their forces have retreated when the structures crumbled, taking with them a __**thousand**_ _of our people to their world to be subjected to the terrible fate of enslavement. This is an act of barbarism I will not tolerate, to strip the freedom and humanity of the innocent and faithful is the vilest of all crimes._

_These Saderans thought they could intimidate us – subjugate us under their merciless tyrannical heel. They wanted to punish us for our freedom and not being subservient to their rule._

_But do not lose hope._

_Not all portals appeared in the Heartland. Somehow, one appeared in the periphery of our empire and remained while the others disappeared. The commander in charge has successfully repulsed the incursion and hasn't only secured the portal, but have also begun the construction of a base on the other side. Interrogations of captured invaders have revealed that this particular portal is stable, what concretely anchors their world to ours._

_As we speak, preparations are underway for an expedition on this new world. The Saderans sought to subjugate us through the full measure of their depravity, so I will respond in kind. With my blessing, Warden-General Armend Ziegler will embark on a retributive campaign._

_(There was an uproar in the crowd as each of them tried to get the Imperatrix's attention. For a few seconds, nothing can be heard by the noisy hollering of reporters and journalists. The Imperatrix raised a hand with a stern gaze, the crowd were slowly pacified.)_

_Rest assured, I didn't overlook the reputation of the Warden-General and his soldiers. It was for this reason that I have deployed a contingent of the Imperial Guard to safeguard our people from harm's way; be they savages from this new world or soldiers of the Beast himself. I am confident in their ability to rein in the Warden-General and direct his attention at the right target._

_Many of you wonder why I am sending the Beast of Oceania into this world instead of our more _considerate _generals, whom I could send into the Gate. But no. I intend to punish them for their audacity, and I find no one else suited for the task than our own monster. _

_For their crimes against Oceania, the Saderan Empire shall answer._

– Transcript of the Imperatrix's speech to the press conference.

* * *

The horizon was an infinite expanse of darkness dotted by distant stars, numberless and minute in radiance compared to the full moon above. It radiated down an expanse of a flat obsidian floor. Directly underneath the moon was a round stone table suspended in the air at an adequate height. It shared the same colour as the surface beneath, directly connected to it.

Overall, the entire area conveyed a message of mystery and peace. There was no sound, not even the breeze of air, simply overwhelming silence at its bareness and simplicity. It was a place of exchange and deliberation.

But for all the serenity offered, the atmosphere was rife with tension.

Several seats surround the table, sharing its obsidian and lithic attributes. The chairs can be identified as thrones from the armrest and the backrest, each one uniquely ornamented to associate it with its seater.

Seated here were the Imperatorial Court, the ruling council of the Oceania Accords. Each of them a figure of great power, leading one of the superstate's apparatuses in concert with the others and have maintained their station for years through the meritocratic nature of the government.

Now, they must use their powers to deal with the most unusual crisis at hand.

None of them ever conceived of something like this to happen. All semblance of peace was shattered when six of their capitals were plunged into chaos by the emergence of an army in the middle of the cities. They were alarmed by the presence of a hostile force within the Heartland at the initial moment, and their minds quickly listed the potential perpetrators.

Initial suspects were the insidious elements within their society, from nostalgic secessionists seeking to resurrect the flaws of the Old Era to the thralls employed by the World Consortium. But they were never large nor organised, much less organised enough to inflict such a scale of damage.

The next contender would be the infamous Fourth Reich. Ever since the triumph over Nazi Germany in the mid-20th century, the remnants nursed a special hatred for the preceding regime of Europe which unsurprisingly extended to them. This current incarnation was more terrorists than a state, a shadow of their predecessor. They only survive through the leadership of scientific genius of one Wilhelm Strasse, notoriously known as Totenkopf throughout the world. Threatening, but they were an occasional problem. The Fourth Reich is involved in a perpetual struggle with its archenemy, the Kreisau Circle.

Speaking of the Circle, they were immediately disproven. For one, collateral damage is an anathema to them since they style themselves as possessing the moral high-ground. The Circle prided itself as a scalpel, striking surgically at their targets and avoiding unnecessary damage, unlike the Fourth Reich. What's more is that they don't employ large groups, operating instead through a number of agents to carry out their activities. Furthermore, projections imply that they are still to fully recover from their nigh-destruction a year ago. So even if the previous factors were possible, it wasn't possible to carry out attacks of this magnitude.

However, they were greeted by stupefaction when the true nature of their enemy was revealed at last. The hostile force was straight from the past, in the likeness of Ancient Rome and creatures of fantasy. They killed and pillaged everything within reach before the local forces could react. The armed forces quickly mobilised and repelled the incursion, their equipment and warfighting superior to whatever the primitives brought to bear. The law enforcement deserved equal honour; though grossly outnumbered, their valiance slowed the enemy advance to a crawl until they joined the army in the counterattack. Their efforts enabled many to be evacuated and spared of the barbarism the foes wrought.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the civilians left behind enemy lines.

Though the situation was pacified, the resulting fallout left a lot of work to be done.

The Day of Blood, as the media has already begun calling the incident, saw thousands of innocents subjected to sickening acts of inhumanity and approximately a thousand were missing. The most horrific explanation for the latter would be their abduction by the invaders for no other reason than enslavement; though the Oceanian soldiers triumphed, victory tasted bitter in that they failed to prevent their people's abduction. A salt to their wounds was the fact that the means in which the invaders arrived into their territory disappeared, denying them of the chance to rescue and mete vengeance.

Protests broke out calling for an immediate retaliation for this attack, and violence had broken out in a dozen or so cities including the six that were attacked. Martial law had to be declared and travel was temporarily prohibited within and without the Heartland as the military and police coordinated their efforts to pacify the raging populace. This statement perfectly described the situation in the capitals that were attacked, where some of the invaders have been left behind to contend with the wrath of those they sought to enslave.

Although one can sympathise for the people publicly venting their outrage and despair, it ultimately served no purpose other than a release of intense emotions. The protests and riots hindered the efforts of the military and law enforcement from focusing on other matters. Furthermore, this large-scale social turmoil could be exploited by third-party belligerents such as the ever serpentine World Consortium and other insidious elements.

The military presence remained in the attacked capitals as a precaution should the enemy force return anew. The Court wasn't taking any chances. Furthermore, the military and law enforcement were still scouring those same capitals for holdouts as some primitives broke off from the major formations in an act of self-preservation. The lucky ones were brutally subdued and apprehended for interrogation, those not were either shot in self-defence or lynched by those they sought to enslave.

Everything related to the Day of Blood was displayed in the many holographic projections above the table. The media certainly has a flair for christening events of import, what better way to immortalise events in the minds of the masses.

News reports from media stations and reporters. Post-battle recordings of engagements showing their soldiers neutralising the hostiles. It didn't matter which time it was taken, what does is the content as it provided them with a continuous appraisal of the situation.

Even now, it was all so... surreal. So impossibly logic-defying. How can an army of antiquity resist the march of time and appear all together in the middle of their cities?

A question that circled their heads, but it wasn't long before they found answers.

Interrogations had borne fruit early in the session; they have learned three things about the nature of this attack.

The perpetrator of the incident is called the Saderan Empire, a pre-industrial hegemony that bears a resemblance to Ancient Rome. But just because of the resemblance, these people have nothing to do with _their_ Roman Empire if the creatures of fantasy that accompanied them were any indication. None of those existed in real life, only in the annals of mythology and the imaginative works of fiction people adores in this age. It was impossible, which is elaborated by the second point.

They do not hail from their world, or even timeline as the scientists first assumed and feared – for it would thoroughly complicate things when they traverse forward; it might result in mutual annihilation or nothing at all given the paradoxes involved, but none of them were entertaining the idea. They hail from the continent of Falmart, in a world different from their own. It was the size of Eurasia, its bulk ruled by these Saderans while the rest were unclaimed, uninhabitable or belonged to some smaller polity.

Through their familiarity with Ancient Rome, it wasn't surprising to discover their casus belli. They sought to conquer their world, and bring them under their deluded form of _civilisation. _Such was a means of economic sustenance and cultural trait of antiquity when wars were the engines that grow empires. Still, the Court bristled with lividity at that piece of information, their people slain, maimed and taken by these self-righteous savages who believe they're entitled to do as they pleased.

"In spite of our discoveries about the nature of our enemy and the world they came from, I strongly advise caution in our approach to this situation." The Grandmaster of Providence informed the Court. The master of the state's intelligence division was dressed immaculately for the meeting. "This world is riddled with unknown factors. Particularly, there's a wildcard that requires more data for analysis and assessment; that is… the existence of magic on their world."

For a few seconds, there was only silence. He could tell the bafflement and incredulity underneath the stoic gazes of his colleagues, though some were more expressive in their reaction to this piece of information.

"Magic? I find it difficult to believe your words, Grandmaster. There was never such a thing as magic, only complex science at work. To quote Arthur C. Clarke, '_Any sufficiently advanced technology is __**indistinguishable**_ _from magic.'_"

The Grandmaster could tell that everyone was in line with the Master of the Regime, a bespectacled woman clad in her own immaculate attire. She wasn't without reason. To argue on the existence of magic in real life was a folly, ludicrous and not worth the time to debate. Such a concept exists only in the minds of the primitive and savage who cannot comprehend the complexities before them, so they simplify it with the notions of the supernatural. To that end, she was potentially accurate.

"Then by your logic, you imply that these Saderans are technologically advanced. Yet we've seen nothing but the contrary so far. Material analyses of their swords, shields and armour show that their material science is on par with the ancients, and dissections – coupled with genetic and biological analyses – show no difference from us… at least for the human invaders."

"Are you certain that this isn't simply superstitious beliefs by a primitive society?" She pressed. "You're sure you aren't being misled?"

"After interrogating 17 prisoners to death on that subject and receiving the same response again and again, yes." The Grandmaster bristled with annoyance, no doubt for reasons he just said. "Considering the world they came from is your archetypal fantasy world, I wouldn't dismiss it entirely. Right now, our only proof is the portals – gates as they call them – since our forces encountered no magical enemies in their attacks, which is why our only source is the potentially dubious words of our prisoners.

The Master relented and gestured to him. "Speaking of these 'gates', what do we know about them?"

"They appear to be localised variations of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge." This time it was the bald-headed Director of Innovation who entered the discussion. With a gesture of his arms, images of the gates appearing on the projector. Around them were the Saderans, guarding it as it disgorged more soldiers or swallowed a train of enslaved Oceanians. "The structure we see is but the shell, a stabilised form of the phenomena while the real portal is the dark interior within. As the Grandmaster said, they function by anchoring two points of spacetime, facilitating crossings between the points. That explains how they were able to attack us, but we have no idea how they were able to conjure portals given their technological level. I can't believe I'm saying this as a man of science, but I must give the idea of magic a benefit of doubt, something higher is at work here."

A pause came before a hint of excitement appeared on his face. "Still, this is a great discovery. This 'gate', and the events of the past days, are proof of the existence of the Multiverse theory. Fascinating, I wonder what other realities exist and the possibility of interacting with them. Is it possible to artificially replicate the effects? I am certainly looking forward to studying-"

A fist slammed into the desk, strong enough to vibrate and echo throughout the room. "This isn't the time to bask over scientific discoveries, Director! This meeting has been called to ponder our next move. How we retaliate and get our people back takes precedence over your scientific exploits. But if you are so inclined, then tell us why did these portals crumble to dust an hour after they appear?!"

Keeping his annoyance in check for the sake of professionalism, the Chief Director met the harsh glare of the leader of the Oceanian military. The Lord Strategos is defined by a staunch straightforward attitude and doesn't take kindly to diversions no matter how small or mundane. To him, time is a precious resource to be used efficiently; a small thing as a second can determine one's fate.

He dared not question the wisdom of one of the longest members of the Court, and as well the first holder of his title. He was there when the Accords were founded and it was he who oversaw its armies against the Consortium for twenty years. For this reason, being the strongest proponent of the Armistice was the greatest irony.

"That I do not know, Lord Strategos. Perhaps the Grandmaster may have something from his interrogations?"

Attention was returned to the head of Oceania's intelligence agency, who cleared his throat. "The energies of the portals were unstable and were bound to collapse on itself. Rank and file and humanoids alike were shocked when they disappeared, most likely hidden from them in case they refuse to march forward. So I turned my attention to their noble overlords. Progress was stifled by their hubris and delusions, but proper _motivation_ was enough to make them speak."

"It appeared that the nobility knew what would happen and most of them fell back, but some got too caught up in the battlefield to remember. The portals that manifested in the Heartland were called 'lesser gates' by the savages, due to their transient nature. But the glory-seeking warmongering mentality of their leaders of this army from exploiting this limited window as well. Manpower wasn't a concern for them, only glory and plunder does. When the portals crumbled, these men were content to die in battle and rallied the stranded otherworlders."

"But there's no reason to lose hope." The Grandmaster voiced. "One of the portals remained." The projector showed images of another Gate, showing a perimeter of soldiers around the structure. Not Saderans, but Oceanian soldiers wearing the trademark black armour. An image of Japan appeared next, bigger than those of the gate. "According to the captives, this is the main Gate and it manifested in Japan. Due to a considerably lesser risk, the expedition deployed most of its assets in here, all of which were destroyed in the ensuing battle, the survivors surrendered after the Gate was taken while automated units were sent to secure a beachhead on the other side. I wasn't going to bring this up until later because of… well… you know."

In his brief silence prior to concluding his explanation, the Grandmaster summoned another display that replaced that of Japan. It was a swastika, yet dissimilar to the one used by the Fourth Reich. A swastika in an identical 45-degree angle shaped like an octagon made visible in the dark background only through the crimson lines of the latter.

The realisation set in among the Court, as talking about Japan inevitably refers to its administrator. The symbol before them was a personal sigil, appropriated from the Nazis for no other reason than to spite them. The result was an uncomfortable veil of silence shadowing the discussion, everyone kept their mouth shut and unwilling to talk. But given the circumstances, it was unavoidable to include _him_ in the subject at hand considering the portal was within his jurisdiction.

The Island of Japan was a dark place, a nightmarish charnel house universally acknowledged to be the closest thing to hell on earth; its land poisoned, beauty ravished, and people subject to unending torment as punishment for their crimes against the world. All made possible by the bearer of that swastika.

"So." The Master slowly resumed after a lengthy silence. Gone was her directness on the meeting, surmounted by unease. "What part will... _he_ play in this?"

If anyone has an idea, none of them wanted to speak. They were about to enter an unpleasant territory. Often, they prefer to ignore his existence. But this time, it was impossible.

"He will be given command of this theatre."

Those words lacked the hesitation shared by the Court, spoken with conviction and the power of indomitable will. All members turned to the speaker. It was the leader of the Imperatorial Court and the Oceania Accords, her gaze fixed at the various projections showing the Gate.

The face of Lady Oceania was unreadable, there wasn't anything on her visage to imply her current thoughts. If not for her ivory skin, her black dress would've made her blend with her throne. By all accounts she was a beauty to behold even for one past her prime, her pitch-black mane reaching past her shoulders and crimson eyes radiating a mystical look as if afire.

In a way, her taste for dark clothing equates her to a raven as it often covered most of her body like the black feathers of the bird. It was her choice of attire that the media had affectionately taken to calling her the _Raveness_. Although the response of the more zealous portion of the population was negative, it was something she appreciated. It was an endearing title from an appreciative population, and It did help reinforce a connection with the citizens as an empathic ruler as opposed to being distant and cold.

"Warden-General Armend Ziegler shall spearhead this campaign, and I am giving him full authority over military operations." A new image appeared. It showed the aerial view of a base, under construction on the other side of the Gate with the most integral facilities prioritised; the scope of the base meant it was to host a large army. Figures dotted the landscape, the machines sent to establish the beachhead were now standing over the construction process and the Japanese slaves brought to labour. The Saderan camp was torn down and gathered on the far side to be torched, along with the corpses slain during the capture.

"That base is huge." The Lord Strategos remarked. "He must be planning large-scale operations to construct a base this big. How many is he deploying?"

"He's assembling a legion-sized task force for this campaign, composed of elements drawn from the preexisting legions in Japan." Lady Oceania revealed nonchalantly. "However, he prepared three more in reserve if the situation unexpectedly escalates."

The Master of the Regime raised an eye. "An entire legion? All to subdue the hegemonic power of this continent? A force of ten thousand should've been enough for this conquest, him sending tenfold of that number will be wasteful in material and manpower even if he's paying for all of it."

"That's because conquest isn't his end goal." The Grandmaster answered. "He's going to turn the place into a charnel wasteland like most of Asia. Not just this continent, this whole world. While a force of 100,000 may seem inadequate on paper, take note that this theatre is set in the... antiquity; the civilisation is largely agrarian with a widely distributed population in many villages, while urban settlements are few in number given their limitations. With Armend's technological advantage, he can butcher entire swathes of the land without opposition with minimal numbers."

"You're certain about that?"

"This is _Armend Ziegler_ we're talking about, not your typical commander."

"I concur with the Grandmaster. Ziegler informed me that he won't limit his operations to this empire, he's going to strike everything."

All were silent as they digested the Imperatrix's words. The campaign was heavily lopsided to their favour due to the backward nature of their enemy, but the natives' predicament is made worse by the fact that they're going to be fighting someone that can only be described as a monster incarnate. Armend Ziegler amassed a dark reputation throughout his military career, having secured his place in history for orchestrating the most horrific atrocities in the current age.

The Genocide of the Philippines. The Barrier of Fire in China. The Mumbai Massacre; just to name some of the horrors he's responsible for.

With the appearance of this… Gate, his attention will turn to the world beyond.

"To what extent would this Court be involved in the affairs of this… Falmart? Outside searching for our people of course." The Master of the Regime inquired, gesturing dismissively at the image. Despite the infamy it brought to the state, it was a backwater not worth their time. The world was definitely a paradise compared to their own ruined world, but it was lost at the doorstep of the Warden-General.

"As minimal as possible. Despite their audacity, these Saderans don't warrant our attention. They are an irritant compared to the state of affairs in our world. The Warden-General can handle this, his military forces are sufficient for the operation."

"I have to object to your decision." The Supreme Judicatrix of Oceania Enforcement quickly spoke up. "With respect, Your Holiness, Ziegler's infamous for a reason. The last thing we need is for the enslaved civilians to consider suicide once they learned that their saviour is none other than the Beast of Oceania himself. Five years ago showed us that he's very indiscriminate when it comes to his victims."

The Beast of Oceania. Armend has amassed a plethora of dreadful titles in his infamous career, yet it was _that_ title that always stood as the most fitting. A runner up would be the Butcher of Asia, seeing as that was his previous jurisdiction prior to his fall from grace and being responsible for culling large swathes of the continent.

The Imperatrix turned her gaze to the female head of Oceania's law enforcement. Among the Court, the Judicatrix stood out. For one, she developed a habit of eschewing immaculate apparel in favour of her armour. It was futile to convince the woman otherwise. If anything, she'd feel what a naked woman would in an open street without her armour. Her armour wasn't just that, it has grown to become a part of her body as well.

She lacked, from poise to personality, the hallmarks of a belle. She was an Amazon in mind and body, a militant warrior-woman with impressive martial prowess. Her blonde hair ending above the nape with a fringe curving around her head, and her green eyes burning with the bitterness of her heart.

Similar to the Lord Strategos, she stood out for her martial nature. Though unlike him, the Judicatrix retained the 'action' aspect of a warrior instead of supplanting it with 'authority'.

It was for this reason that she played an active role in the crisis and subsequent pacifications if her damaged armour was any indication. She joined the enforcers in the field, their equipment resistant to the gates' manifestation. They were its valiant defenders until the army arrived, but their equipment and training weren't enough since the enemy had the element of surprise and numbers. Lividity and bitterness consumed them as they beheld the sacrilege and inability to retaliate, and in the aftermath they vented their fury.

Following the conclusion of the attacks, there had been numerous incidents with the enforcers brutalising and murdering captured Saderans and even letting crowds lynch disarmed prisoners, who had been _softened_ to not resist. These led to on-field altercations between them and the intelligence community that often had to be broken by third-parties, culminating with the verbal spat between the Grandmaster and the Supreme Judicatrix over the loss of potentially valuable information and the latter's sense of justice.

It was apparent that the Judicatrix looked the other way on these incidents.

"Your fears are unfounded, Judicatrix." the Imperatrix said softly, trying to soothe the woman's mood. "I would be a fool to entrust the safety of our people in the hands of the Warden-General, nor expect him to keep them all safe; untouched and alive. Their search, safety and well-being will not be under his purview, it will be under the Imperial Guard I'm sending in this campaign."

If that tidbit of news meant to deliver relief, it was superseded by surprise instead. After all, the Imperatrix deploying her protectors was circumstantial and only for developments that had warranted her attention. Mostly military campaigns, but not restricted to it. The Imperial Guard answer to her alone, and each wield a fragment of her authority. Still, it makes sense; the legions of Japan shared the infamy of their commander, and were utterly despised by the wider military. No soldier of Oceania would want anything to do with the soldiers of Armend, for good reason.

Frequent excessive force. Proclivity for war crimes. Massive collateral damage. These are the hallmarks defining the soldiers of Armend Ziegler, and the source of extreme hostility latent in the armed forces.

The further down the command chain, the more evident this hostility was. While commanders tend to turn a blind eye to more pressing matters worthy of their attention, the rank-and-file weren't so restrained. Before the Armistice, during joint operations on areas of operations, there had already been dozens of violent altercations between them and soldiers from separate military units; it led to numerous fatalities for both sides. More often than not, the fights weren't caused by Armend's own soldiers, but by those provoked by the atrocities they inflict on the field.

To prevent any more incidents, the Lord Strategos declared those legions to be "_operationally incompatible with the overall military structure."_ and silently ordered the others to distance themselves from those legions, steering clear from battlezones where they're active. It was a double-edged sword; further fatalities ceased at the cost of Armend cementing his hold on the already loyal legions.

A force of the Imperial Guard, though small compared to the legions in Japan, was a different case. Though a loose cannon, if the term was appropriate, Armend is still a commander of Oceania, subject to the authority of the Holy Imperatrix. Her protectors bear her a fraction of her authority that was enough to even overrule that of the Court, and those soldiers know better than to cross them.

They would serve as the shield of the innocent and the sword to ward off beasts.

After all, it was she alone that spared him from execution despite the overwhelming call for such action in response to the atrocities he had wrought in the war. The whole Court save for her had been unanimous for his death during that time, and was shocked by her decision.

"What of the World Consortium?" The Lord Strategos asked out of the sudden. Ah yes, what of their _cherished_ neighbour on the planet – whom they have warred with for a good two decades, and now tolerate for the past five years – be doing concurrently? "They could see this as a violation of the treaty and may act."

"Unlikely on both counts, Lord Strategos. They did offer their condolences for the attacks, and reassured that they have had no part in it. They are equally confused and concerned as we are." The Grandmaster explained to the head of the armed forces. Typical diplomatic exchanges; reassuring that they have nothing to do with something and shallow commitment to the Armistice. Of course, they have been alarmed by the large-scale military movements during OMEGA: BLACK and enacted their own alert levels in preparation for an armed conflict. For some time, many thought that the war would begin once more and it no doubt got the warmongers of both superstates thrilled. "They won't do anything, the treaty stipulated that Armend's military authority be restricted _within_ Japan." The penal colony was highlighted in the globe. "Since the only stable portal leading to where the otherworld Romans hail from lies within, it is part of his jurisdiction and is therefore not an infringement of the treaty."

"A loophole – clever." The Lord Strategos remarked. He honestly didn't expect that.

"Ziegler must have tried to object over your decision, Your Holiness. He dislikes the idea of military units outside his authority since he can't control them." The Director of Innovation mused with visible humour. "I guess it spoiled his fun, no doubt he desires to expel his bloodlust and escape the stultifying administrative duties he's given. I hope he's still fit for duty, seeing that his responsibilities are catalytic to senility."

Lady Oceania turned to him. "On the contrary, he agreed as long as there's no operational friction between our forces. This decision is beneficial in that it compartmentalised the operation's objectives; Armend's forces will mount the punitive campaign while the Imperial Guard concentrate on locating the Taken."

The tension in the chamber diminished. A wise decision had been made and brought relief to the Court, especially the Judicatrix. The further that monster is away from their people, the better.

Their people mattered. They could care less about the denizens of this Falmart.

"You mentioned him transporting Japanese to the new world." The Master of the Regime changed the subject. "Given the size of the theatre, the influx will increase and subsequently diminish his tithe to the Penitence Initiative. His contribution makes about 60% of the input, any decrease will slow down reclamation efforts to heal the damaged biosphere."

Although humanity survived the onset of the Third World War and re-established civilisation, the planet was yet to fully recover from ecological devastation. The extensive chemical warfare enacted by the Japanese Empire had saturated most of the landmass, and despite continued restoration efforts by both the Oceania Accords and World Consortium – even with the war between them, restoring the planet's health remained a priority – the planet was still far from recovering.

"I will inform him of this." Lady Oceania said. "I believe this is everything for today. Interrogations are to be continued, the more we know about this world the better. There's also the matter of more of these portals appearing in our territory, I want the Military and Enforcement on high alert effective immediately for any disturbances similar to what happened in the Incident."

The Grandmaster gave a wordless nod whereas the other two were more vocal in their affirmation.

"It will be done." The Lord Strategos nodded. "There won't be another Day of Blood. Not on our watch."

"As would we." The Supreme Judicatrix gave her vowed. "The Armed Forces have our support."

All is set. The crisis still remains, but they now control the situation.

"This meeting is adjourned. Dismissed." Lady Oceania watched impassively as the Court vacated her presence. One by one, they vanished in a flash of white, leaving her alone to contemplate in solitude.

In the newfound solitude, she loosened her composure and sighed. The last few days were stressful unlike the regular days. Ruling a superstate encompassing half of the world was a great burden for one person, but she must soldier it. It was a duty she embraced, a monumental test of her will to attain her ambitions.

"I must admit." bright particles coalesced into a figure beside her. "I'm surprised the meeting went well when the subject turned to me, save for the Judicatrix's brief protestation."

Lady Oceania glanced at the newly materialised figure on her side. The man had opted to remain in the shadows, observing the meeting instead of being a participant and offering his opinion. "You're not exactly welcome anywhere, some even treat your name as a taboo."

"It doesn't bother me." Armend dismissed it with a wave of his hand. His countenance withered by age and duty, but his eyes still blazed with the madness and cruelty he was known for and a poise showing fitness for command.

"Anything relevant to report, Warden-General?"

The Warden-General began pacing around the table. "I finished assembling a task force for the operation, as well as conducting reconnaissance on the other side to get an idea on our position. Our position complicates things. The Gate opened on an island not far from the coasts of the continent, in the Falmartian Far East according to my interrogations. This meant that we're in the frontiers of their empire, far from the heart of their power. Since our foothold is an island, I had to expand my infrastructure to include airstrips and shipyards in order to deploy my forces." He reported, caressing the nearby thrones every often.

"Interrogations on your own?"

"I don't trust the Court with the exception of yourself. You of all people know of my tense relationship with them. Better get intel on your own than receive it tampered."

Lady Oceania scoffed. "How meticulous, but ultimately redundant. Try to rein in your paranoia, it's not good for you."

"Yes, that's a good idea when practically everyone wants your head on a platter." Armend retorted sarcastically, stopping at the opposite side of the table to face her. "You should temper down the Director's behaviour. While the position is indeed _stultifying_ to a degree, I'm still able to torment vermin responsible for all of this. Japan is the prize I desire, my thanks for keeping it in my possession even after you stripped me of my previous position."

"You should be." Lady Oceania shot back in annoyance. "Many still question me for sparing you of execution in favour of an… undeserving punishment, even the Court. People still clamour for your head, nothing else can appease them."

"Let the dogs bark, only a few are brave enough to bite. Those that did attempt, I _dealt_ with." He let it hang in the air ominously. Of course, not all who wished for his death didn't see the impotently. A brave few attempted to enact their vengeance upon him. He had lost count, and no matter how many he thwarted the frequency remained. One of the lessons he learned in his lifetime was to never underestimate the power of will. It repels all considerations and concerns in favour of achieving one's goal; the less tied one is to the world, the stronger it was.

Such was true to the people whom his atrocities have given nothing left to lose and everything to gain, they were shells of the men they used to be – filled with nothing but hatred, determination and tenacity in their path of vengeance. Despite their unbridled hatred for his very being, Armend respected them enough to award their efforts. A clean death with his gun, to join the souls he had cruelly snuffed from the earth.

"Tell me something." Armend began. "Why send a detachment of the Golden Legion when others can fulfil the criteria?"

Lady Oceania frowned. "Haven't you been listening in the shadows? They are there to safeguard our abducted people from the predations of your forces."

Armend chuckled. "I'm not easily deceived like the others, your holiness. We both know that isn't the truth. You only deploy the Imperial Guard for two reasons; either to secure the matters important to the state or your personal interests. As much as you wanted to argue otherwise, the abducted civilians aren't really important enough to warrant their deployment are they? So tell me, why are you really so interested in this campaign of mine. This campaign is a backwater operation compared to state affairs, yet your deployment of the Imperial Guard implies personal interest. Why?"

The Imperatrix didn't respond and instead glared at the face of the Warden-General for trying to decipher her true rationale. The boundless expanse around them was momentarily forgotten as both figures of power stared each other down. Their eyes were upon one another; majestic crimson and monstrous gold met in a clash of wills, neither faltering against the other…

At least until one of them dropped it.

"As much as I'm curious, I believe this isn't the time to ask. There are other pressing matters after all." Armend withdrew the inquiry. "As long as it wouldn't impede my campaign, I will not mind it."

Lady Oceania returned to the topic at hand. "Regarding your… geographic problem. Shouldn't you have already prepared for this?"

"I prioritised establishing a foothold over this world first and foremost. I need a secure position If I'm going to conduct a prolonged military operation. I will immediately expand my infrastructure once all core aspects have been established. Despite this limitation, it provides us with a natural barrier in the form of the sea. I'm going to turn the island into a fortress, while using my maritime and aerial assets to both attack the enemy and deploy land forces into the continent.

"Excellent." The Imperatrix nodded. "As soon as we're done here, I will deliver a speech to the Oceanian nation. I will be addressing the people in the wake of this tragedy first before revealing the existence of your Gate and your subsequent deployment along with my Imperial Guard."

Armend chuckled darkly. "I'll appreciate the fanfare with the media. Such insatiable parasites, they keep the Incident in the headlines to get most of the attention and yet they always hunger for more. Such sensationalism. For once, the world's attention will turn to Japan. I'll be happy to oblige them with a speech of my own.

Aside from being a competent commander, Armend was an excellent public speaker. The Imperatrix would've admired such talent had the speeches been not spoken by a psychopath; each statement bearing vicious undertones and promises of cruelty. There was never justice, glory nor righteousness in his words, only the passion for carnage and chaos regardless of the cost; tapping into the primal instincts of humanity.

The Imperatrix grimaced at the memory of some of those speeches. Passionate in the wrong way. "Your speeches are twisted in context. Entertain yourself however you desire; just do not do anything that will smear me in front of everyone. Many still clamour for the death you so deserve and question my decision for sparing you."

"Trust me, you will not have to worry." He reassured her. "For now, let's turn our attention past our own people. Our enemies will take note once you've announced the existence of the Gate."

"The World Consortium falls under national purview, let me and the Court. Other than that, few third-parties have the capability to interfere with your operations. Two of which are the most prominent." With a gesture, Lady Oceania summoned two symbols above the table. On the left was a swastika and the right a pair of wings; the former a dying vision barely surviving in the current world order and the latter a hopeless endeavour still clinging to life.

"The Fourth Reich and the Kreisau Circle." Armend muttered.

Lady Oceania turned to him. "I'm unsure whether to be amused or not given your history with these enemies of the state; you were in a brief partnership with the Reich's own Wilhelm Strasse, something punishable by treason under normal circumstances if not for our agreement. You've been a target by the Circle for as long as we can remember. Assassinations. Sabotage. Subterfuge. At least until you retaliated… _cruelly. _Further Circle activities diminished in the Asian Region after your rebuke, but not for all of the Accords."

He chuckled. For a moment his mind ventured briefly to memories of _that_ particular affair. "I've been quite thorough with my deterrence. The Circle is still reeling, but it is foolish to believe they will stay idle in this development."

"Must they be treated to the full brunt of your _reputation_." The Imperatrix inquired with distaste. An understatement, she can only use such a euphemism to describe the horror he wrought against those slippery band of revolutionaries. "I have no love for those subversives given the existential threat they pose. But your punishment was so atrocious that I actually felt a twinge of sympathy for them."

An amused Armend raised an eyebrow, smiling. It wasn't normal and was a tad unnerving to witness such an expression crept its way across his face, exuding malicious amusement over the pain and terrors he'd unleashed. "You've gone soft. Is your ruthlessness fading?"

"Trust me, it's still there." She retorted, bristling that the man would compare herself to him. She may have been responsible – directly and not – for a number of questionable actions, she had committed them in the name of a higher purpose incomprehensible to the selfish masses and inward elites. She is a visionary and a messiah, having saved the decadent Europe from collapse through sheer will and ambition, but she isn't a monster like the one before her. "I just have standards… unlike you."

The Beast of Oceania chuckled even as his smile faltered weakly. The tone was bitter this time, devoid of amusement that was once there. "Because unlike me, you're not broken. You were laying the foundations of a new order in Europe while I crawled out of the abyss, reborn as who I am now."

"True." With a gesture, she vanquished all holograms. "I believe that would be all. You may depart and continue your preparations for this campaign. When the Imperial Guard arrives, you may deploy."

"Very well." Armend nodded. His business was finished here. Now he can return to more pressing matters than converse with an old ally and accomplice in the form of a self-styled godling. "I will put a halt to the influx of Japanese immediately when I log out. That would please the Master, seeing she's the driving force for the Reclamation. She'll get her tithe, she certainly loves her quotas being fulfilled."

He was a second away from logging out when The Imperatrix spoke.

"And Armend."

He stopped and saw her lips curve into a small smile. Though his face remained unchanged, he became suspicious. He had seen that expression of hers several times; the way she smiled and the strange glint in her eyes warn him of something devious.

And he wasn't wrong when the next words followed.

"The Angel descends."

–TWG–

_The Sandbox – Japan – Oceania Accords_

A bisecting cut. Parry the sword on the right then slash. Stab to the chest.

It took Isak three seconds to kill his foes, striking them in a surgical manner with the blade in his hands.

Three fresh corpses fell, the blade's edge having cleaved a fatal path on their body. They fell not with the squishy sound of flesh on the solid floor, but with an audible thud of a dense object before it was swallowed to the ground. No remains were present to provide evidence of the kill in the first place.

While his superior was occupied in the meeting with the ruling council of Oceania, time was his to use for the day at least until the meeting was adjourned. Anyone of his position would be tempted to indulge in sedentary or simple recreations since the job of a protector is ever demanding. However, circumstances robbed him of such inclination. Almost everything was in place for this operation. The task force was assembled, logistics secured, their hold on their other side consolidated and the surrounding vicinity scouted. They could start the operation whenever they want, but Armend informed him Her Holiness forbade their deployment until a detachment of the Imperial Guard arrived.

The inclusion of Her Holiness' Legion was a surprise, but not unexpected. The relationship between them and the Oceanian Armed Forces was defined by mutual hostility, not to mention utter revulsion of the latter against them. The military would vehemently oppose that the campaign will be conducted exclusively by Armend's forces out of concern for the Taken, as the media have begun calling the abducted Oceanians, without any oversight from an external unit.

And thus, the Imperial Guard was the logical choice. They are the only force that their soldiers wouldn't dare antagonise – or at least treat with caution – due to their status as the Imperatrix's personal army. Each of them carries a sliver of her authority. It's something even the Warden-General recognises and submits only to the Imperatrix and no one else.

With that in mind, better put his time to productive use.

It's been two and a half hours since he entered the Combat Simulation Chamber, informally called the Sandbox by the personnel. Despite having the appearance of a hollow chamber with a large surface area and a height of a hundred meters, its purpose was more sophisticated than one can imagine. Truly, nanotechnology is a wonderful innovation with limitless potential; this entire chamber consisting entirely of it. The Simulacrum, the AI overseer of the CSC, can manipulate the material to simulate battlefields; not only creating environments specific to military exercises ranging from jungle combat to urban warfare, but also forming nano-fabricated representations of people that it controls.

That part explained the lack of 'corpses', the AI simply assimilated any _dead_ nano-construct. The default setting was to leave the 'corpses' untouched for the sake of realism, but he deactivated it for this time.

He charged towards the next group under a volley of arrows, which he expertly avoided or cut down depending on the circumstances. Even clad in his armour, he moved fast. He leapt from a nearby wall and cut them all with two swings, five dismembered Romans disintegrated down to the ground.

Or maybe, he should start using the term 'Saderan' to distinguish them from Ancient Rome. The universe certainly possessed a twisted sense of humour to pit a fantastic pastiche of one of history's civilisations against one of the two most powerful polities in existence in a clash of civilisations. Even now, the scientific community were having a field day on how to explain this occurrence.

The broader implications of this event weren't for him to contemplate. To him, it was simply another enemy to fight, albeit one that was most peculiar.

The constructs were being animated based on the cross-referenced data on the Roman and Saderan Empire. It was as accurate as it can get, from the ranks to the battle tactics they used. The problem was that he wasn't certain if it was wholly representative of their enemy, since these Saderans hail from a very different world. Maybe the eventual engagements with the Saderans on their homeworld will provide more data for future simulations.

He went over several scenarios against the Saderans. Assassination or capture of HVTs. Rescue of Captives. Sabotage of military equipment, both domestic and pilfered Oceanian weapons. And even battles involving Saderan legions and allied Oceanians. He'd taken time to finish each simulation then take a brief rest prior to starting anew, after that he would either restart to hone his performance or move to another scenario.

Right now the simulation was set to extermination. The Simulacrum recreated the ruins of Tokyo, containing about a thousand enemies for him to kill. The bulk of the constructs are Saderans, while the rest imitate their bestial auxiliaries. His HUD showed that it's been 50 minutes since the simulation started, and the number of hostiles left numbering to two digits.

Compared to their conflicts with the World Consortium, this campaign will be largely lopsided due to the technological inferiority of the Saderans. Their military organisation was built around numerical superiority and close-quarters engagements like any army of antiquity, but it was nothing against the contemporary art of war practised by modern armies.

Optimistically, even a company of 250 soldiers supported by armour or aerial elements has the adequate firepower to rout a legion, which was the largest military formation like in Rome. Still, there was one factor that has yet to be assessed. It was a phenomenon exclusive to the world these Saderans came from.

Magic.

The Scandinavian frowned even as he cut down a werewolf. Ever since he read the reports, his mind still grappled with such information. For it to be real all of a sudden was just… one comes to the point where the veracity of something is questioned. It was so ludicrous to claim that magic exists until now, their collision with another world making it a reality.

While its existence was proven, the extent of its application was debated; post-battle recordings by trooper helmet and body-cams showed no anomalous developments among the Saderan forces. No robed individual was ever glimpsed among the ranks of legionaries, nor the infamous 'fireball' or 'lightning' spells espoused by the eccentricities of the contemporary youth. Only the pastiches of roman soldiers clad in their trademark armour and their Auxilia and warbeasts.

Perhaps their magic was limited only to creating portals? Should one for a minute ignore the technological inferiority of these people and examine it logistically, it was an alarming hypothesis. Distance will not be a problem when you can shuffle not only forces and manpower anywhere through the use of portals. The enemy force will fight at their full strength, unburdened by fatigue.

More data would be good.

An arrow sped towards him from a multistoried ruin, to which he shot with his sidearm before turning his aim to the offending archer. Behind him, he heard the thunderous hooves of horses and turned to see a charging cavalry of ten riders, their spear point to skewer him. It certainly was an intimidating sight, for the cavalry was the dread of every footman. But he was no footman or any ordinary soldier. Every breath wasted on war cries and every gallop by the equine beasts were futile as he dispatched them accordingly.

Only nine more bullets remain on his clip, one had to be killed up close with his sword or some other creative way.

Isak levelled his gun, eliminating the targets with a fatal shot. Only one remained, the equestrian up front was no doubt the leader of the cavalry and instigator of the charge was unmoved by the demise of his men. He has his attention. The Hound closed the distance in less than a second, leaping to catch the spear then kicking the man off his steed. The impact crushed his ribs before he collapsed on the ground whereas Isak landed safely into the ground.

He was in the midst of reloading his gun when he partially dodged a swinging club, grazing his armour instead but the force still hurled him forward. He aligned his position so that he landed on his two feet, facing his new foe.

Beneath his helmet, he smiled. _Now, this is a challenge._

The ogre was an imposing creature to behold, as tall as a large statue. Clad in armour and armed with a tree trunk fashioned into a club, it was a fearsome beast to confront especially in his lonesome. Isak was alone to fight this thing, all he has are the weapons on himself. A baseline human would've faltered against such a threat but he was anything _but_ baseline; and so, he adopted a combat stance.

If anything, this situation parodies the biblical story of David and Goliath; a man against a gigantic creature. But unlike David, his weapon was a sword instead of a sling; a melee weapon instead of one that hurls rocks at a fatal velocity. He quickly judged his sidearm to be ineffective in this fight, since the ogre's armour and hide seemed thick enough to withstand the gauss-accelerated rounds. He replaced his gun and gripped his sword with two hands. Bearing in mind that he was part of the force subjugating Japan, many will be bewildered to see its trademark in his hands.

Isak held his katana in a firm grip. It was truly a marvellous blade, famed throughout the East and the whole world for its unparalleled sharpness that eclipsed even the finest swordcraft of Europe. This particular katana was heavily ornamented, consisting of a golden blade and a black hilt with eight beads of ruby encrusted on the guard. A serpentine form of a _tatsu_ was engraved across both sides of the blade and the pommel had the face of a _komainu_, two creatures that represent power and strength for the Japanese.

This level of ornamentation can be explained by its previous status.

In the long history of Japan, it was known as the _Kusanagi_ _no Tsurugi_ – a part of the Imperial regalia of Japanese Emperors presented upon coronation, to symbolise their rule over the Land of the Rising Sun. For generations, no one but the emperor and his attendants has seen it, always kept within a box with the other two regalia.

Now, it stood as a twisted mockery of its original purpose. It served as Armend's personal trophy, personally receiving it from the Japanese Emperor to symbolise the surrender of himself and his empire to the victors, and he used it in his tortures of the man and the Imperial Family. Having renamed it _Triumph _to symbolise his victory over the detestable Japanese, the ancient blade remained in his possession until a few years ago when he handed it to Isak. Following the tradition set forth by Armend, he renamed the blade _Judgement _to symbolise his role as his guardian and executioner.

After being soaked in the blood of many it can no longer be called a regal symbol. It was just another murderous instrument of war, insatiable for blood regardless of who. Blood is blood after all, same for all men regardless of social standing. Innocents, avengers, terrorists, soldiers, traitors and even Terror-Billy himself. The blade carved their flesh and tasted their very essence for the briefest moment.

But soon, he thought as he decapitated a legionary, that status will change. He would venture to this alien yet familiar world with his lord, commanding his army and being his executioner. Plenty of opportunities to soak _Judgement_ in inhuman blood. How strong and skilled they are were questions that fill his mind, the Simulacrum can only do so much with the current data.

He was unable to use it during the counterattack, having remained within the bowels of _Hell's Gate_ commanding the operation alongside the Warden-General.

Isak lept to the side when the ogre slammed its club with a ground-shaking force. The beast dragged it to his direction but he avoided once more. He charged and lept to slash its armoured chest, only to receive its fist. He crashed against the debris before the ogre charged. He jumped to the nearby wall and ran across it for some time before the ogre tried to smash him once again.

He jumped just in time while the ogre was showered by rubble. With _Judgement_ ready, he dived behind and left a long incision on its back. There wasn't a roar of pain nor spilling of blood, as if it didn't even feel the painful wound. It was a construct, meant to _mostly _simulate a biological equivalent.

But obeying the programming, it staggered and turned to face him with clenched teeth. It tried to smash him again but he dived forward and slashed its feet; dismembering the right foot while severing the left's achilles tendon. The ogre collapsed on its knees and hands, completely immobilised. As it tried to pull its own weight, he jumped to its back and stabbed deep, forcing it back to the ground. He then leapt forward and slashed horizontally to its nape where the spinal cord was, killing it.

He landed on the ground, turning to look at his quarry before it was absorbed into the ground. The ogre was the last nonhuman construct of the simulation after that werewolf he'd slain earlier, the rest were now Saderan legionaries. His HUD showed their number to be in single-digits, and were converging on his position. He had already decided that this will be his last for the day, he was tired and he's already had trained enough for the day.

_[Wunderbar!]_

His ears picked up the rhythmic sound of smacking cloth before a display occupied his HUD. Armend was smiling and clapping his gloved hands. "Your skill with that blade remains ever impressive, Isak. It's good to see you are practising."

"Sir?" He greeted curtly. "I guess your meeting has been adjourned. Have you been observing for some time?"

_[Just recently.]_ Armend admitted. _[I came here to see what you've been up to mein freund and I'm pleased to see you getting prepared. Take your time to get cleaned and dressed, I will be waiting outside.]_

With the link ended, Isak sheath _Judgement _to its scabbard_. "End simulation."_

As he made his way to the exit, the environment around him began to change. The first change was that the light dimmed, then the reconstructed ruins of Tokyo sank to the ground as the nanites composing them were reabsorbed. The process itself was fast enough to span only a few seconds, becoming a vast gray landscape when the last of the ruins sank at last.

–TWG–

There was no destination in mind as patron and protector walked side-by-side in the corridor. It was nothing more than an aimless stroll that was accompanied by a casual exchange between two close friends.

Isak exchanged his battle armour for his black service dress, a straight-collared double-breasted jacket with a white shirt underneath and black trousers along with matching combat boots. Though unarmoured, he was by no means unarmed. _Judgement's_ scabbard remained attached on his left hip, the handle of the aforementioned sword high enough to be reflexively drawn by his right arm.

"I trust that the meeting went well, Armend." The Scandinavian asked. There wasn't the need for professionalism in otherwise casual settings, so he could address him not as a subordinate following his commands but as a confidant and a friend.

"You can say that. Oceania is on high alert. The military and enforcement are on the lookout for any more portals appearing while the regime is preoccupied with reconstruction." Armend answered. "The Imperatrix gave me her blessing for this punitive campaign, we can deploy when the Imperial Guard detachment arrives. I can tell she's interested in this campaign, but for reasons that elude me."

"Did you inquire?"

"I tried to, but she insists on them being here to safeguard the kidnapped citizenry against _us_. A genuine explanation, but not the real reason. I didn't go further because it wasn't urgent for the time being. Regardless, I will get to the bottom of this." Armend turned to Isak. "But let's change the subject. How were things while I was away?"

Of course, he was _away_. He had been absent for the day to day affairs for the meeting with the Imperatorial Court, but by no means he physically left the penal colony. He remained in his office, it's just that he _wasn't_ entirely there.

He was away _figuratively_, not _literally_.

His office contained a sophisticated device called the Neural SubNet, an advanced computer network developed by a corporation named Connaught Technologies. Using it was akin to dreaming in one's sleep. It projects consciousness out of the body and delivered into a private server where others can be brought. Inside each server is a digital realm that can be personalised by the 'host' user. It eschewed the need for physical presence in a meeting as well as the need to make a video call, since all users are brought together in a virtual environment.

"None, sir. Everything's as you left them. Base construction is still underway on the other side, and the security is already supplemented by a couple of companies. Likewise, I've sent a few of the Elite Guard."

Armend chuckled. "Glad to know they've overcome their superstitious fear without my intervention. It's only a matter of time before we go in."

"Beyond the Imperial Guard, are we going to receive external support? Logistics, I mean."

There was a contemplative pause. "Doubtful, but ultimately irrelevant. I built Japan to be a self-sufficient territory, not reliant on the rest of Oceania nor beholden to its leadership save for the Imperatrix herself. Besides Isak, the world beyond the Gate is a treasure trove of untapped resources we can exploit."

That was certainly true. While the case varies throughout their territories, many administrators have noted the high amount of self-sufficiency Japan demonstrated. Although politically subservient like all others, Armend's predilection for administrative independence led to him making Japan economically and militarily independent. It was a feat he'd achieved primarily through his own megacorporation and, an open secret across the upper echelons of Oceania, nigh-absolute power over the Oceanian underworld. Despite this, Armend was content to behave according to the expectations of his station. Of course, several have addressed his seeming independence. The Master of the Regime had called several times for increased oversight and investigations on his dealings, especially during Armend's brief partnership with the Fourth Reich. But most were willing to turn a blind eye to a productive and compliant territory and It's not like many officials and those with enough money don't benefit from the exclusive _indulgences_ only Japan can offer.

"How many of the Golden Legion is she sending?"

"Three hundred. We're fortunate that detachment is small." Armend answered. It was a legitimate concern. As the custodians of the Imperatrix, the Imperial Guard has an exclusive arsenal of unparalleled power. They use technologies unavailable to the Armed Forces and some were rumoured to be personal innovations of Lady Oceania. More important to remember was that they always remain under the direct command of Lady Oceania, one cannot command them or change their objectives as one would to their subordinates, unless the Imperatrix say otherwise.

"But for all the concerns they present, the last thing Her Holiness said is what troubles the most." Armend disclosed. "The Imperatrix has decided to send one of her Companions."

Isak's eyes widened in surprise. While it was seldom for the Imperial Guard to venture away from the Imperatrix, this was the first time in history a Companion would be operating far from the Imperatrix's presence. This development alone spoke volumes of how interested the Imperatrix was to this campaign.

Despite this, the Hound failed to see the cause of this perturbed his superior. Perhaps a way for Her Holiness to consolidate her authority in the operation? The Imperial Guard detachment were certainly few in number compared to the assembled legion to stroke their authority to a large degree, which would be augmented by the presence of one of the Imperatrix's personal attendants.

"And this is concerning because?" He asked, stopping his pace as Armend stopped and faced him. From how his face changed, Isak figured that it must be a cause of dismay for the Swiss general.

"Because it's someone we know, and one who wants me dead the most."

His heart skipped a beat. Isak was shocked. "You mean-"

"The Angel of Oceana." Armend looked at him, his golden eyes showing the dismay he was feeling. "Elsa Rayne."

Now fully understanding the gravity of the situation, Isak could only sigh. It was troublesome enough that the Imperial Guard were involved, but _this_ news… It simply added fuel to the fire. It wasn't one that would complicate the operation, that he was sure of. But because he was aware of the _personal_ implications brought upon by this companion of Her Holiness, it would cause problems.

A single statement of his summed this overall complication.

"God help us."

* * *

_"You won't see a trace of humanity in those eyes. Only unbridled malevolence that promises suffering."_

– Elsa Rayne, a Companion of the Imperial Guard

* * *

AN: That's it for this chapter people. As always, feedback is highly appreciated and I encourage you to write down detailed reviews. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them.

Despite what the wordcount indicates, this is actually a short chapter since events progress rapidly and also containing only two sections. However, both are laden with lore necessary to understand this AU I'm making so I wouldn't dismiss them for lacking in action. I won't break down the events since there's the type of readers who check both top and bottom ANs to get a clue of what happened in the chapter without bothering to read the contents.

There are influences of Warhammer 40k in this chapter. I modelled the Imperatorial Court from the Senatorum Imperialis in Warhammer 40k since they function as the highest authority in the state beneath an absolute sovereign. That absolute sovereign, in this case, would be the Imperatrix, the mysterious woman known only as Lady Oceania (the fact that she named the superstate after herself is a straightforward enough answer). She is a major character in this AU, so we'll be seeing her from time to time.

The section of the Imperatorial Court's meeting was inspired by the scenes of the Illuminati in Deus Ex: Mankind Divided. In response to the game's events, the Council of Five would convene in a virtual setting to formulate their plans. My original idea had been to set the meeting in a physical location deep within the Imperatrix's palace, but playing and finishing Deus Ex: MD by chance impressed me enough to adopt the Neural SubNet into the setting.

The next chapter will be about the Kriesau Circle's response to the Gate appearing. I plan it to be short since I want to move forward quickly.


	4. Guilt

AN: This took time to create, but it's finally done.

**Warning:** This chapter contains disturbing content in the form of a flashback. Spacebattles allow me to completely hide it as per my agreement with the Amicus. On the other hand, Fanfiction doesn't allow that so you'll have to scroll down when you see it – the only indication would be the line break I employ for each scene. Ultimately, the readers have the liberty of skipping the scene in question at the expense of missing out details.

Proceed at your own risk.

* * *

_"Our purge was a success. Kreisau's power is broken, all cells destroyed and so were their affiliates. Just mopping up the stragglers. Had Armend acquiesced, the Circle would trouble us no more. I don't know why he spared them, but I know they _aren't_ intact."_

– The Grandmaster of Providence.

* * *

Whenever one thinks of the oceanic depths, they think of monsters. Gargantuan creatures lurking in the lightless deep, rising occasionally to the surface to hunt prey. It was in this circumstance that they would be seen by men, and terror and fear immediately set in their hearts at the massive and unnatural appearance of these creatures.

Those were the legends that inspired the _Leviathan's_ construction. Created by a Syndicate of the World Consortium, It was a prototype submersible cruiser intended to operate in the benthic depths. Nearly three hundred meters in length, the ship could withstand significantly greater oceanic pressure than its contemporaries.

It was meant to be the first of its kind for a brand new submersible ship for the Consortium Navy. A new avenue for espionage upon Oceania Accords from the abyss itself and strike deep within their territories. But fate intervened, and now it served as the mobile headquarters of the Kreisau Circle.

The _Leviathan _was a spoil of war. When information on its abilities was discovered, it was decided that It was to be captured for their own use. It made sense for a _terrorist_ organisation to do this, it suited their operational emphasis on stealth and mobility. Their previous base of operations made them sitting ducks and although well-hidden, the possibility of being discovered remained; at least with this ship they can move all over the world. Coupled with the advanced stealth and cyberwarfare systems of the Leviathan, the Circle was almost impossible to track .

To ensure that the Consortium could not develop any kind of countermeasure for the immediate future, they destroyed the facility along with anything they couldn't take; relevant data were extracted from both servers and the involved personnel before both had to be disposed of. It was a necessary evil but even with all of that, they would be fools to think that the Consortium wouldn't have any kind of countermeasure in place or didn't know the ship's weakness.

When time permits, the Kreisau Circle will have to implement its own upgrades to the vessel's hardware and systems. Fortunately, the data their agents had recovered were being examined by the best minds the Circle had but it will be some time before such things can come to fruition.

The submarine was repurposed to become the Kreisau Circle's new command centre. They could travel anywhere across the world in the benthic depths of its ocean, unseen by the superstates who were ever engrossed with one another. They could coordinate better with their cells and deploy their agents to assist in operations.

-TWG-

The more Caroline Becker reflected on her decision, the more she realised it was a good decision to call this meeting past midnight. Almost all of the crew were already asleep so none would know of this gathering save for her and those she summoned.

The leadership had been nameless, none of them having perceived the necessity of formally denominating themselves despite being the leaders of the Kreisau Circle. The title 'Council' was actually a colloquial invention by the lower-ranking members before they decided to adopt the name, to better identify within the organisation.

Whenever it was imperative to discuss a matter, they would gather in the _Leviathan's_ conference room. It was an austere chamber devoid of just the rectangular holotable at the centre and its accompanying seats. The room was originally riddled with the material opulence of the World Consortium until they stripped it bare, removing any distracting furniture and symbolising their claim over this vessel. The room was physically and electronically isolated from the rest of the ship, the entrances could be locked and the holotable is restricted to an exclusive server – all outside data had to be installed through the datajack on the side.

Befitting her status as the nominal head of the organisation, Caroline sat at the head of the table. Underneath her clothes was an experimental suit that allowed her to circumvent her spinal injury and move once again. An invention by Set Roth, who explained something about 'mind-receptive nanoweave' based on Da'at Yichud tech that permits mobility through thought.

It was an incredible invention; one that would greatly benefit the Circle if further developed into combat-capable application. While a prototype, this suit freed her from the constraints of her wheelchair. It was a better alternative for the choices usually presented to disabled individuals: cybernetic augmentation or organic replacement. Caroline could've gotten the procedures but those funds would have better use somewhere than for her to get her legs back.

"Thank you all for coming." Caroline began. "It's not usual that we gather at this time, but your presence is paramount."

The fact that most of the Council arrived in their sleepwear spoke of the unpredicted nature of this meeting but they were no less vigilant.

"This better be important." Fergus Reid grumbled and Caroline couldn't look at Fergus without wincing at his pitiful state. Excluding his sleeveless pajamas, the Englishman stood out as the most cybernetically augmented member of the Council. His arms, laid on the table, were military-grade prosthetics in the shade of chrome; unconcealed for the intimidation factor it bore. His face was ravaged by crisscrossing scars and it was a sight worsened by his completely scalped head. His eyes were likewise cybernetic but disguised as natural. "You know that I can't leave Maria whenever I'm gone at night. She still has panic attacks and I have to calm her down every time.

"I understand Fergus, but I wouldn't call all of you for a meeting this late at night if it wasn't important." It wasn't just a reassurance meant for Fergus, but one to everyone in the room. Caroline went straight to the reason for this meeting. "One of our ciphers has been captured."

That news got their attention. Any reluctance to be in this meeting vanished from their faces as they realised just how dire the situation was.

Following their near destruction at the hands of the Oceanians a year ago, the Circle needed to be reorganised; the Network's connectivity was turned against them and steps were taken to ensure it won't happen again. Cells became independent and isolated from one another, each one reporting directly to the Council and limited in what resources they're given. Information had to pass from the Council first before being given to the rest of the Network. It was tedious and inefficient, placing significant inertia on their operational efficiency, but the security it provided was reassuring.

As a rule, no one knew the entire structure of the Network but themselves. Even the operatives stationed aboard in the Leviathan have no knowledge of the other cells.

But ciphers are an exception. Having proven their reliability and dedication to the Cause, they were trusted enough to have full knowledge of the Network and are permitted to _surf _across cells, lending what aid they can provide. Their extensive knowledge over the Kreisau Circle made them hunted by other parties; such as the superstates Oceania Accords and World Consortium.

Aside from loyalty, another and perhaps an even more crucial requirement to be a cipher would be inconspicuousness. High-profile operatives will draw a lot of attention and are designated HVTs and POIs which is counterproductive for a cipher. For that reason, ciphers maintain a low-profile even when working with cells and refrain from partaking in the field. Therefore, their skillset was largely technical – hacking, cyberwarfare and the like but remained combat capable if the need ever arise.

Due to these stringent selection criteria, ciphers were few in number and a contingency was placed to protect them from being compromised in the event of capture. A deadman's trigger was installed in their heads, a killswitch that will shutdown the brain and destroy their neural implant to deny information.

"The bad news is we can't get to him." she continued. "The good news is he's not taken by the Oceanians."

Confusion abounded at least until one managed to connect the dots.

"This cell, it was in Paris, one of the attacked capitals. You're saying he was taken by these… Saderans?" Anya said with a bit of uncertainty. "The ones responsible for the attack on Europe?"

Anya Blazkowicz came to the meeting clad in white sleepwear. Although years younger than her husband, a few grey streaks already manifested in her hair and there were bags under her eyes, no doubt it came from the overall experience with Ziegler and what he did to her. Her eyes, though remained shaken by her trauma, carried a firm resolve. Caroline had nothing but respect for the woman's mental fortitude.

The Council recalled the bloody event that transpired a few days ago. It was unprecedented to suddenly discover the existence of parallel worlds, not from the words of theorists and philosophers but from an actual phenomenon. As if reality wanted to further sneer at their understanding of the 'real world', the other world happened to be a realm of fantasy mixed with classical history. These Saderans wore the trappings of the Roman Empire, from their armour to their military tactics. With them were creatures they loosed on the defenceless with equal measure, supposed to be existing in the genre of fantasy. They pillaged the city with indiscriminate slaughter and fought to the bitter end when they were stranded. The Oceanian Armed Forces and Enforcement had long secured the besieged capitals and still maintain a heavy presence. The invaders, minus those killed by vengeful soldiers, enforcers and citizens, were taken to an undisclosed place for interrogation.

At a glance, it was simply absurd… surreal to think that something like this was even possible; an absolute impossibility. Like everyone, they were still trying to come to terms with the fact that something that should be considered fiction has become a reality, but fiction stays as it is: a product of the ever imaginative human mind.

Either due to ignorance, arrogance, stupidity or a most likely combination of three, they provoked one of the world's superstates with such brazen attack. Given their resemblance to Rome, they were obviously militaristic and bent on expansionism. Now their days are numbered, the Accords will not tolerate this atrocity in the holiest of their soil and will see the Saderans punished.

If only the Circle hadn't been dragged into this mess. They were still reeling from Armend's Rebuke, which she heard was an invention of Providence to describe the operation that brought the Circle to its knees, and must focus all resources on rebuilding the shattered Network.

But their very survival is at stake and the Circle can't afford to be brought to the precipice of destruction again. As traumatising as the… first-hand experience with Armend was, he did let them limp away for his own sick amusement with a warning that he will finish the job if they ever cross paths again. They weren't as strong as they originally were and the scope of the Network remained small. In contrast, Providence was a thorough and ruthless organisation as expected of an intelligence agency, they will destroy the Circle when given the opportunity. The number of cells was smaller compared to what it once was so a concentrated effort by Oceania's intelligence agency would overwhelm them.

Caroline nodded. "The cell reported he was taken by the otherworlders. When the Incident happened, they cleaned their base of any information and evidence before leaving. The cipher was separated in the chaos of the streets, and he was later seen being taken through the portal.

"They were unable to intervene?" Anya furrowed her eyes. "Protecting ciphers are of the highest priority."

"Not without getting killed," Grace interjected nonchalantly in the conversation, clad in her trademark red sweater. "Boy's already deep in enemy territory when they saw him and the enforcers were still getting pushed back. By the time the counterattack began, he was already dragged to their world a long time ago."

"Tell me he at least activated his killswitch," Fergus asked. "We drilled into their heads what to do when captured, surely he's already done that."

"That sure is possible, but you forget one thing." Virginia Wilkins said. The ginger-haired woman then summoned a 3D-projection of Paris on the holotable. "Although they have some resistance to EMPs, they're not completely immune. The EMP bursts that preceded the attacks were strong enough to fry every electronic in the vicinity."

"Ginny's right. Primitives somehow KO'd every tech in the cities and delayed the Oceanian response. Hard to believe they could do this." Grace explained. Of course, no one can fault them. They never predicted something like this to happen; had they known they would have prepared a contingency specific to this circumstance.

"Bloody hell." Fergus put his head on his metallic hand. "So he's out of this world and he can't self-terminate, can this get any worse."

Grace scoffed. "You're unfortunately right about that, tin man. If you've been keeping up with the news, the Holy Bitcheratrix gave a speech to the entire Accords about this attack. She's sending Ziegler into this world."

Ginny stared at her in shock. "What?! I thought he's forbidden from operating outside Japan?"

"But not _inside_." Grace continued. "This so-called Gate appeared inside Japan, so the motherfucking law dictates that it – and wherever the hell it leads to – lies under his jurisdiction. As such, he's eligible to send military forces over the place."

While their problems were complicated by the abduction of their cipher into another world, the news that the Beast of Oceania will spearhead the operation took their predicament out of the frying pan and into the fire. The very idea of facing their tormentor once again, one of the most feared commanders of the Oceania Accords, terrified them. However, they weren't blind enough to not make a more horrifying revelation, that being an _entire_ world will be under the grasp of _Armend Ziegler_; another Japan to serve as a playground for him and his army.

Should the cipher fall into his hands, it's the end for the Circle.

"Goddammit." Fergus massaged his temples, the metallic fingers doing little to smooth his stressed mind. Everyone else was less expressive of their frustrations, but are all equally concerned – afraid – at the problem.

"So… what now? What do we do?" Ginny asked, hoping to get an answer. However, she received overwhelming silence in the room instead.

Grace broke the silence. "Do we even have to think this through? We do something instead of being like sitting ducks waiting for the hunter to pull the trigger. Caroline is in it for sending a team into this world in order to get our cipher back and I'm putting a list of people for it."

"What? Caroline, are you fucking insane!" Fergus screamed. "You're placing us on that monster's sights again."

"We don't have a choice." Caroline maintained her composure but firmly responded to the outrage. "We need to secure our cipher before the Oceanians do, especially with the Imperial Guard involved." the leader of the Kreisau Circle hoped that simple reasoning was enough to convince Fergus to acquiesce to the plan, but the man continued his fearful tirade.

"He gave us a warning, Caroline. We leave him alone. We pissed him off a year ago and look at what happened. He spared us for his own sick amusement, don't provoke him into finishing the job." If the palpable fear and shaking of his body was any indication, Fergus was _scared _at the idea of facing Armend Ziegler again. It was uncharacteristic for the tough and resolute Englishman to be reduced to a frightened wreck.

"And neither would Providence." Caroline countered. "The Palatines will hand the cipher to them, seeing how they've intensified their efforts to hunt us down after Ziegler disobeyed their Grandmaster. When that happens, Providence isn't going to waste any resources in putting us all down for good."

It was a fact they were all grimly aware of. Armend was supposed to kill them all once he snared the Leviathan, by the insistence of Providence to finish the Circle for good; their formidable global network in tatters, almost completely destroyed save for a handful that escaped the purge. The Leviathan, nerve centre of the organisation, snared in a trap devised by the Warden-General himself.

Unfortunately, Armend had other plans.

The Warden wanted to retaliate at their relentless assassination attempts. He subjected them to an entire week of torture; seven days of agony, pain and incessant screams with the intent of reminding them of the consequences of crossing him, and he was thorough with the task. The Leviathan was dragged to the waters of Japan to make sure his work was uninterrupted, secure and inescapable should they successfully revolt.

By the time they were let go, roughly half of the crew were killed – no, _slaughtered_ was a term more apt – and the number of suicides that followed added to the tally of people killed, effectively reducing their strength. For months, they recovered while being fervently hunted by Providence. The reconstitution of the Network had been slow to begin with, due to the near-total victory against them.

Fergus scoffed. "So you're ensuring our survival by risking it at the same time? Brilliant idea."

"And you got a better one, tin man?" Grace glared at Fergus, always known for having a short fuse. "A third fucking way we can take? 'Cause by the time you thought of an alternative, Ziegler or the IG could've already snatched our poor Private Ryan and Providence would already be on the move for our asses. Until that happens we're stuck with two choices, either we do something or sit our asses praying the cipher does what he needs to do. There's no lesser fucking evil here, both of our options are equally risky."

Caroline resisted the urge to massage her head and instead tried to smooth her stress by force of will alone. She anticipated her proposal to be met with resistance, but she hoped her reasoning will be enough to sway them despite their opposition. But she underestimated their resistance on the matter and she knows as a leader that forcing them, although decisive, would backfire. This deadlock was achieving nothing but wasting time as Ziegler mobilised his forces, last she heard the assemblage of the expeditionary force was nearing completion and the Imperial Guard detachment was on the way. Since travel was notoriously slow for a primitive civilisation, Ziegler's forces could catch up to one of the caravans carrying their cipher shortly after crossing the Gate.

"Look," Grace said, now calmer. "I know how you feel. You love Maria so much that you don't want her harmed again by Ziegler, but don't be irrational. I lost Speshie and have to live seeing our daughter scarred for life, but I understand the necessity of intervening regardless of the risk involved."

"Grace is right." Anya conceded, catching everyone off guard especially her husband. "I don't like the idea of acting against him once again after what he _did_." she held her abdomen, wincing as she tried to bury a particular memory. "But if our agent falls into his hands, we're in danger either way."

"And you think everyone else will agree to this? The crew is still reeling from what happened to their families, I doubt they'd be happy to know we'll go ahead with this. Some of us here may have lost someone close to them or something else, but it's the crew who bore the brunt of that monster's torment. A lot of our agents lost most of their families while the rest are held hostage by Ziegler through a fucking bomb in their heads."

Although she knew that it wasn't the time to interject in the dispute, but knowing the subject she will bring is also a matter of importance, the Circle's head of engineering addressed something overlooked in the discussion so far.

"I hate to derail the discussion, but it seems to me like we're overlooking one important part of this plan," Ginny said. "How are we going to go to this Falmart in the first place? The portal is deep within Japan and is secured by the Warden-General. There's no way we're getting through short of being alive or undetected."

"Under normal circumstances, yes. But we have a solution, a means to bypass this Gate entirely." Caroline pressed a few buttons in the holotable. They heard the locking mechanism of the chamber's only entrance disengage; the dual doors whirred with shifting gears before parting like curtains.

An elder stepped forward. Though his nondescript attire left not much of him to warrant any attention, his bespectacled eyes radiated with wisdom none of them – even the prodigal Ginny – can hope to match. Those same eyes reciprocated their gazes in turn, not to judge them as the wizened normally would. Rather, those eyes savoured their presence after so long of being gone from their sight.

Caroline welcomed him with a nod while Grace smirked in turn. Everyone else, however, were in a state of surprise. They couldn't react other than gape at the visitor as he took a few more awkward steps into the room, the door closing behind him and bringing back the privacy of the chamber.

It was Anya who broke the silence brought by the newcomer.

"Set?"

Set Roth nodded with a small smile. "I'm here to help."

-TWG-

Five years.

It's been five years since Set Roth parted from the Kreisau Circle. Ever since he left there's been this... void in the Circle, one too big and too deep to be filled. Set was one of the oldest members of the organisation, responsible for the innovation they

Why he left was a mystery, not even his closest accomplices can answer. The letter he left on the night of his departure, a few weeks just after the Declaration of the Armistice between the Oceania Accords and the World Consortium, had been vague. The letter was mostly a heartfelt farewell to the crew, particularly to the Blazkowicz family he's grown so fond of, and that there's something he must attend to by himself and not wanting them involved. It had been written to imply the bleak possibility of his return to the Circle.

For William Blazkowicz, Set was the closest thing he had to an actual father. Caring, compassionate and understanding – qualities his real father lacked. He was rattled by the old man's sudden departure and has been concerned for his safety in whatever solo mission he's taking. More than once, he wished he accompanied Set Roth to provide protection but then again, the Kreisau Circle needed him more – the needs of the many coming before his own.

It was good to see him back. Assuming he'd finished his private mission and is intending to stay, Set would likely reclaim his position in the Council and return as the head of their R&D group. He did leave a cadre of capable apprentices to innovate in his place, but he was their foremost scientific mind; his expertise greater than any of them combined.

"I'm sorry Doc but can you repeat what you just said." Grace had to ask the old man again.

"I'm going to create a portal. Small-scale and transient unlike the one in Japan, but enough to send a small group through."

Set retrieved from his jacket a gilded object the size of a can and placed it on the holotable. It was segmented into six-sided shaped gears with a star-like symbol ending on either side.

"This artefact will be instrumental for the task." Set began. "To keep explanations short, it creates a connection with parallel realities. Now with your resources, and a spare room, of course, I can construct a device capable of harnessing the artefact's power to create a portal to the other world. However according to my calculations, the resulting energies will surpass the device's threshold, we must limit it to sporadic use lest the strain overload and destroy the device, trapping the team until we can reconstruct a new one. It will also serve as a signals transmitter, allowing use to acquire real-time data on the operation.

Caroline nodded. "I'm sure we have enough resources to construct this device of yours Set. How long will it take?"

"I estimate in a few days. In the meantime, gather the team we'll be sending into this new world. It's best we start soon, Armend Ziegler will deploy soon."

"While this solves our main problem, it doesn't change anything. We are _not_ provoking Ziegler." Fergus continued to reason.

Knowing that she'll be ridiculed but desperate to appease both camps of the argument, reflecting her torn decision-making, the ginger-haired engineering prodigy put forth an… unsavoury proposal.

"If we need to intervene while wanting to avoid getting the Warden-General's attention, why not send mercenaries instead?" Ginny declared. "Plausible deniability."

It got the anticipated reaction. Ginny felt herself shrink as almost everyone gave her incredulous looks. "Girl I know you just joined the club so forgive me for saying that's the dumbest idea I've ever heard. Mercs are only in it for the cash so they follow the highest bidder, plus I'm sure they'll turn us down 'cause who wants to get on Ziegler's bad side? They'd sell us out to keep their skins. Not to mention, you're proposing bringing outsiders _aboard_ the Leviathan! Better we do it ourselves with people we can trust."

_At least I tried. _She thought sheepishly.

It was at this point that Caroline noticed something bizarre and chided herself for taking too long. A strange development atypical in discussions like this, when important matters on the Circle are at the forefront.

"BJ." she called the man across her. "You've been silent so far. Care to tell us all what you think we do?"

Blazkowicz's expression remained unreadable even as they turned their attention to him. If anything, it seemed like he was immersed in his own thoughts.

"This team… I'm guessing you're sending me over there as well?"

Caroline nodded. "You're going to lead them. Out of everyone, you're the most experienced operative we have. I can't take any chances in this mission and I need to be sure the team will succeed, BJ; I need someone who will succeed and I find no one else fit for the job than you."

She worded it perfectly. Even though familial responsibilities took a chunk of his time, Blazkowicz remained one of the most proactive operatives of the Circle. He never failed a mission and the consecutive number of victories made him an inspiration throughout the organisation–a symbol. Him being the leader of this team will boost their morale and confidence in this task. They will venture in a new world, alien and untamed, to rescue one of their own from the clutches of monsters. But it won't be a mere duty for their survival was at stake and they needed someone who can bring them to victory.

But his life wasn't all the Circle.

William Joseph Blazkowicz – the best operative of the Kreisau Circle, inspiration of the Resistance and dread of the Powers – had only a simple response.

"No."

It took them all by surprise.

"Blazkowicz-" Grace began only to be cut off by a stern look from him

BJ looked at his long-time friend. "We picked ciphers because they're not afraid to die. They are willing to embrace death if it meant protecting our secrets. They are our most dedicated operatives and it's something they've proven from time and time again, he'll think of some way. This situation won't be different."

Grace was about to continue with her intended tirade until Caroline stopped her. "You can't be certain about that, BJ. I do not doubt the loyalty of the cipher. But to do nothing while the worst-case scenario remains possible doesn't guarantee our survival."

In short, they can't afford to be indecisive. They have to take matters into their own hands and not leave it to fate.

But does Fate ever struggle against guilt? Does it even have any consciousness for the weight of your decisions to impend its thinking?

His eyes lowered to the table, gazing distantly. "How many of us have I killed... by going after him?"

Grace let out an exasperated groan, as did Caroline. "Blazkowicz not this again. We went over this a million times already. What went down ain't your fault and none of us holds it against you. You had a good reason for targeting Ziegler and the same with us. The blood of Speshie and everyone else we lost that week is all on his hands, none of it is on yours. Besides, we went ahead with you so we share the collective responsibility."

He glared at her. "Do you think everyone else shares your opinion? The crew doesn't care however justified it was, they blame me for their suffering. They paid the price for my choice, and they're angry at me for being responsible." he looked down on his hands, clenching it in regret and shame, imagining all the blood on it. "I was foolish to think we can succeed. I underestimated him, and led ourselves to his fingers. I won't make the same mistake now."

"We could've avoided that tragedy if we didn't fall for his trap." Caroline reasoned.

"But what matters now is that we didn't and we're a shadow of what we once were, because of _me. _You can't change the past, you have to live with the consequences of your actions." he stood from his seat. "I won't be a part of this."

With that, he walked towards the exit uncaring for the calls for him to come back.

-TWG-

Blazkowicz doesn't know how long he had been strolling around aimlessly. He paid little attention to the time and didn't bother checking it from any of the clocks scattered across the corridors he passed by.

He could guess it's been several minutes since he stormed off the Council. Anya had called him recently that the meeting had been adjourned and that they would continue tomorrow, meaning it had been fruitless. She had returned to their room and was awaiting his return, but he wasn't inclined to make a beeline for their own corner of the Leviathan even after leaving the meeting. He wanted to clear his head first of the horrible memories that were resurfaced to haunt him again.

The Council weren't normally indecisive on any issue that they have to prolong its discussion, but this wasn't any normal discussion. This was about going into some place of fantasy to save one of their own and essentially breaking their agreement with the worst monster to ever exist in this god-forsaken world.

They had experienced firsthand what his countless victims before them did, to suffer most cruelly or die most gruesomely through means he never thought men were capable of at their worst. None of them was willing to experience it for a second time.

BJ was never defined by selfishness. He risked his life for the Circle many times because he believed in the Cause, a better world they would reap for all they sowed. He ended so many lives that he may as well be damned in some circle of Hell in his death so that others may live. But for once, he wished the cipher to do what must be done to secure the secrets of the Circle and not provoke any intervention from them.

One single sacrifice to spare them all from further suffering.

He was so arrogant to think they could kill the Warden-General of Japan. Armend Ziegler was never a threat to the Circle, but he provoked him. The man's reprehensible nature spurned him to act, and so he used his sway over the Council to target the Warden-General.

Had he known that he would fail like those before that attempted, he wouldn't have made the proposal in the first place. Now look what happened; the Network in tatters, half the crew killed, half the survivors taking their lives or worse and the rest scarred for the rest of their lives. The Kreisau Circle was a shadow of itself, hanging at the precipice of destruction because of his own self-righteousness.

It was for that reason that the crew's perception of him changed. Many now looked at him scornfully for what his actions caused. Often he heard whispers from the crew, how they came up with a new name to their tragedy in place of the disparaging title of Armend's Rebuke by the Oceanian Providence, and further shame him for his decision.

Blazkowicz's Folly. A spiteful name to directly remind him of his role at their suffering. It stung to see people you inspire now regard you negatively for your fault. His family was similarly affected. No one wanted to talk to his spouse while his daughters' were avoided by their friends, none desiring to associate with the Blazkowicz family. It was selfish in a way, disregarding the fact that he too suffered losses of his own.

Of course, the Council tried to clamp down on that but it was a pointless endeavour, so he advised them to stop. Besides they had the right to be angry and blame him for their pain, to vent their anger at him was all they could do if they wanted to protect those that they still have.

Armend ensured the Kreisau Circle would never strike back. He had the surviving relatives of the agents implanted with explosive chips in their brains with the threat to activate them if he ever detected their presence in Japan once again, including his daughters. Electronic tampering and surgical extraction proved equally fatal in their attempts to remove them, since it will prematurely detonate and it's grafted to a vital area in the brain respectively. That discouraged agents from coming to his presence and any idea for attacking Armend inadvisable.

Which was why the planned mission on this Falmart was a highly contentious matter. Sending a team to retrieve their cipher could alert Ziegler and provoke him into activating the explosives.

If that happened, they will lose those they still have and be left with nothing. Sure, they would be able to strike against Ziegler now that their limitation was gone, but none of them was willing to pay that price just for the sake of revenge.

His walk reached the end of the hallway and entered into the Leviathan's bar. It was empty and dimly lit by the few lights that were kept open. He was about to pass by the room when his attention was drawn to the opposite wall.

There on the vertical surface were many names and pictures. The Memorial Wall, to commemorate those of the organisation that perished in the service of the Circle. From time to time, new additions were included from almost always every mission was undertaken, every step taken for a better tomorrow paved by the occasional sacrifice. Many times the friends and family of those lost congregated in this place to pay their respects and reminisce about their pleasant experiences with the dead.

But his Folly turned it into a sombre reminder. The number of personages on the wall swelled to include everyone that was killed, not just the active members. Men, women, children, young and old, their portraits dotted the wall.

His focus found itself drawn to a particular spot.

Amata Blazkowicz.

His heart skipped a beat and contracted painfully.

He remembered...

-TWG-

… _Being on the floor, naked and completely soaked in blood. His body felt afire, whatever they injected made his muscles hurt so much that even the slightest movement was agonising. His entire mouth gagged by several layers of duct tape. Behind, Isak Dahl kept him pinned on the ground with one knee while restraining his already bound hands for good measure in the presence of his master._

_Armend Ziegler has mastered the art of appearances to reflect his dark reputation, presenting a mixed impression that is both impeccable and dreadful. His personalised black officer dress endowing him a menacing presence, and demeanour granting him the gravitas to be taken seriously. His auric eyes were his most exotic feature as it granted him uniqueness from the known variety, but BJ knew better than to be deceived. There wasn't anything majestic or close to humanity in those eyes, only something monstrous._

"_Our lesson is coming to an end, Blazkowicz. One last lecture to end it all."_

_If that was meant to make him relieved then it utterly failed, though his intention was to further unsettle him. It did little to assuage his fears over what will happen now. 'Hell' had never been the more appropriate word to describe this week; six days had already passed and this day is coming to an end, each ending with him being forced to watch as people he held dear die in the most horrible manner. Armend called such private sessions 'lectures', trivialising the agonising last moments of his friends as something to be learned and studied as the consequence of making him the Circle's latest target._

_Knowing Armend, he no doubt saved the _worst _punishment for the last. That became even more certain when he realised they weren't alone._

_His family was in the room. They were naked, dirty, starving and bruised, all dignity stripped away and helpless to do anything. But despite the anger he felt, it was a better alternative to _what _usually happens. _

_Jessica and Sophia were together, terrified and confused at their predicament. A heart-wrenching sight. This whole experience was eroding their innocence as their young minds struggled to comprehend the situation around them. Their mouths and hands smeared in blood, and he was unfortunate enough to know why. Their eyes were red with tears as they sniffed, careful not to make any noise that will anger the men around them. They were collared in the neck like an animal, the chain held by the towering figure behind them. Taller and more muscular than the likes of Armend and Isak, it was a man wearing a pitch-black bodysuit. The symbol in his chest marked him as a member of Armend's most infamous forces, and it unsettled him to see it's proximity to his daughters._

_Anya was strapped into an operating table, her limbs restrained and legs spread apart to expose her womanhood. She was clearly uncomfortable at her position and shame burned her inside, robbed of her decency as a woman. To his growing fear, he realised she was positioned in that way so as to expose the small bulge in her stomach._

_They were having a third child. Its existence was incidentally an accident much like that of their twin daughters, when Anya would provide him nightly comforts occasionally after a dangerous mission. His line of work was inherently life-threatening, so they were very passionate in their display of love whenever possible since the future was uncertain and that he remained a mortal being despite the myths circulating from his reputation as Terror-Billy._

_To see _her _exposed to these... monsters worried him like never before, and he was unable to do anything. Yes, they were having another daughter. The dawn of the third millennium was followed by a considerable investment into reproductive technologies, in order to reverse the effects of Japanese bioweapons and help the decimated population recover. One such leap was the ability to discover the gender in just a few weeks of fetal development by identifying the sex-chromosomes involved._

_Anya was five weeks pregnant when she took the test, the results showing 'XX' and led to her joking that he's going to be overwhelmed with girls in the house. It was one of the pleasant memories he held onto in his torments, a momentary escape from this hellish reality._

"_It pains you doesn't it? Watching the organisation you've dedicated your life to crumble down because you steered its course to me, arrogantly thinking you can succeed where others have failed. You realise all these deaths. All the suffering. All avoidable if not for you. I may be the butcher that slaughtered the lambs, but you're the shepherd that led them to me instead of the fields."_

_It was circumstances like this that nothing hurt more than the truth; It wasn't a lie nor contain just a kernel of truth, It was a pure statement of fact. Armend constantly hammered into his mind again and again of his responsibility for this fallout._

_That he, William Joseph Blazkowicz, herded his own people to the slaughter because of his pride. _

_There was no denying this was all his fault. His decision to see this monster slain once and for all led to their torment instead. From now on, the corridors of the Leviathan are tainted by the blood of the innocents and echo the screams of pain, forever haunting those that survived._

"_Your friends have already paid the price of your folly, but I'm very thorough when it comes to my work."_

_He turned and moved to the desk adjacent to Anya. "Another child, both you and Anya are quite fecund with your love hmm? A little sister for your twin girls to pamper with while you are both at work? I take it you're already imagining what her life will be. A crusader like you, willing to shed blood to pave the path for your futile Cause of a better tomorrow. Pride swelling in your hearts as you witness the fruits of your labour into forging her as a warrior of freedom. No doubt you yearn to desire to see your daughter grow, but not in this life."_

_BJ squinted his eyes as their captor raised something from the table, gleaming under the artificial light. _

_A scalpel._

_Armend kept his eyes fixed at the surgical tool. "Because you will never get the opportunity to do so." _

_BJ's eyes widened in horror as he realised the Warden's intent._

_Anya shared one look with him and realised it as well. Despair overcame her as she struggled against her bindings, desperate to save her unborn from the touch of the monster in human form beside her. She had endured and witnessed horrors, but this was something she cannot bear to experience. She thrashed violently against her restraints, while screaming like a deranged madwoman confined in an insane asylum._

_BJ struggled against his bindings, no matter how painful it was. He had to protect her, he must. It was bad enough that he watched his mother get butchered, but this monster was going to kill his child as well._

_But how can he? His muscles were deprived of the strength he was renowned for, that which is necessary to throw the Scandinavian off and pummel the man that dared harm his daughter. His efforts amounted to nothing more than a futile struggle._

_His back turned against him, Armend began. Anya screamed as the blade sank deep into her flesh, and louder as he began to cut through her abdomen with precision. It was bad enough to experience the pain, but worse that her head had been positioned to witness the act itself to make it more heart-wrenching._

_Jessica and Sophia cried loudly, watching their mother in unimaginable agony. A sight that would burn into their young minds like the rest they've witnessed in the past days. The man before them held their heads in place to make sure they witnessed the death of their would-be sister._

_BJ thought he'd known pain, that he'd finally understood the sensation to become completely numb against it. Wounds, loss of friends, torture – he experienced them all. But this was absolutely unbearable beyond imagination. A dagger sinking deep into his heart. He couldn't endure it, closing his eyes shut as tears streamed down his cheeks. He'd rather burn or be shredded alive than feel this; corporeal agony was never more welcome than a mental one, his body trained to weather physical pain._

_The procedure continued, unabated by the increasingly loud screams from Anya as the Warden-General kept cutting in silence. It was a sound full of despair that he never thought he'd ever heard from someone, much less her. If he bothered to look, he would see tears falling down her cheeks from her eyes widened in pain and horror of equal measure._

_He wished it would end with just a simple gesture as closing his eyes and waking from this nightmare; that the past seven days were just a bad dream in one night, to awake and see everyone still there, alive and well. _

_Then, the screams and thrashing died down into sobs. He opened his eyes to see a bawling Anya lying on the table, resignation and despair written in her face. His twin daughters were on the floor with hands on their faces, trying to stifle their own tears. _

_Armend walked to him and knelt. His hands were bloodsoaked with the right one stretched forward, facing the ceiling, where a lump of flesh lay in a puddle of blood. It was crescent-shaped and pink-skinned, its appearance akin to some small creature._

_Bile rose to his mouth. He wanted to scream, but he was too overtaken by horror to do anything other than stare. Grief, anger and despair blending together into a torrent of emotions rumbling within him. _

_It wasn't just a creature, it was a fetus. _

_And it wasn't just a fetus._

"_All the pain you experienced is nothing compared to losing your child. She could've lived if not for your foolishness, her chance at life snuffed before she can even draw breath or feel her mother's embrace. Let this be a reminder of what I can do, that I'm not someone you can cross with impunity. "_

_Armend smiled. "You've chosen a name for her. Something to be loved. What was it? Hmm... Ah, yes!"_

_The hand closed shut into a fist, enclosing fingers crushing the flesh to mush. It was an unnecessary act, having no other purpose than to pour salt into the already deep wounds in his mind. A display of sadism accompanied by a reminder._

"**Amata."**

-TWG-

BJ fell to his knees, grief overwhelming him. He wanted to leave but he couldn't move his legs, the memory of that night flashing into his mind.

The picture above her name was the ultrasound Anya had taken weeks before everything went to hell. It showed the image of Amata in her mother's womb, growing and nourished by her mother.

It had been beautiful to behold.

A beauty ruined by Armend Ziegler, who snuffed their living miracle and condemned their aspirations to oblivion. It was bad enough that he crushed her remains, but salt was poured into his wounds when her remains were burnt to a crisp and scattered to the ocean.

And it was all his fault.

It wasn't just her. His hands were also stained with the blood of many in the wall, dying because of his foolishness. Although pictures, BJ felt their eyes move upon him, judging and condemning his decision for resulting in their deaths. The survivors are forever broken by the loss of their beloved. Nights like this he'd sometimes hear weeping within rooms, as common as the broken faces he usually sees. He remembered the looks of scorn thrown at his direction, and their averting gazes whenever he looked back.

It was all his fault.

He undid all the work of the Circle had taken decades to build. Now, they hang at the precipice of destruction trying to survive the predation of everything.

It was all his fault.

Alone in the bar with no company but ghosts, BJ wept. Uncontrollable sobs were accompanied by tears as he buried his face into his hand, overcome by shame and guilt for the tragedy he caused.

_It's all my fault. What have I done?!_

AN: In case none of you realised, Set Roth is in possession of the so-called God Key, a plot device in New Colossus and Youngblood. It was only in YB that it's true function was revealed – an interdimensional gateway opener as written in the wiki. With the premise of the story being the Gate opening in my AU Wolfenstein, I thought it'd be a convenient way of bringing the Kreisau Circle into Falmart.


End file.
